Blues
by CanadianCold
Summary: Dave Strider had it made: between DJ gigs and his internet comics, his ironic empire was keeping him in the lap of luxury. But when his fame abruptly ended, his life took a turn for the worse. Now on the rebound, he's forced to do whatever he can to make ends meet. However in the nightmare of a new job he finds a silver lining: a busy, overworked co-worker named John.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm taking a stab at writing a new Homestuck fanfic. My last one flopped, but I've been feeling inspired by a few things, so here goes nothing._

_As always, reviews keep me enthused and productive!_

* * *

"It's all gone, Bro! All of it!" You shout as you turn around to face him, exasperatedly throwing your hands into the air. Bro's hidden gaze is bearing down on you with the full fury he normally keeps so bottled in. Though you're too far gone to care, you _want_ him to be angry; to be as angry as you are: "What the fuck do you want from me?! To apologise? It's my life, I fucked it up! So fuck your apology, you conceited shit!"

Before you realised it, Bro's hand was holding the front of your shirt, and through his ridiculous shaded eyewear, you could see the orange irises practically flaming with fury. You can feel your breath hitch in your throat, knowing that your anger saw you let your guard down, and a pissed off Bro was an unpredictable beast.

He slowly loosens his grip, "What do I want?" He says in an eerily calm voice, still slouched over to meet you at eye level, "I don't want anything from you, let alone an apology, _David_." The fact he used your full name sent a shiver of discomfort down your back and you take a step back. Bro capitalises on your fear and moves forward, still meeting your gaze, and you find yourself helpless to break the stare-off. "You fucked up, kid," his words come out after an agonisingly long pause, and before you realise what's happening, you're on the ground, the back of your head throbbing with a blunt pain.

From your crumpled position, you can see Dirk walking into your room, and beginning to pack up all your DJ equipment, "Bro, I…" You mumble as your eyesight darkens further. He pauses to look over at you, but only gives a shake of his head.

You really fucked up.

* * *

The descent into mediocrity had begun. With cheap black dress pants, equally unflattering shoes, and the most hated blue polo you had ever worn was donned. Tussled, perfectly styled and once famed blond hair rested casually on your head, and a pair of black aviators covered your eyes.

Put simply, you were Adonis in a cheap, servile uniform. Bro had called you a worm who was 'perpetuating the capitalist lie.' Yeah, Bro was still weird. It was even worse when he went off on tangents about the social injustice done against those with smuppet affinities.

However Bro's mocking would only intensify if he knew what had brought you to such a low in your life. The lowest of lows; the most pathetic job a Strider had ever taken. You, Dave Strider, worked at Best Buy.

Swallowing what little pride you have left after you found all your equipment packed into a closet, you walk through the entrance as the sliding doors part and allow you access. Cold, dry, air conditioned air assaults your skin and eyes, and you can practically feel both drying out in the stifling atmosphere. Before you were all the movies, and to the right the mobile phone department. To your left the checkout tills, and to your right the home audio systems, however you spy Customer Service a little ways down to the left, and so you make your way over.

Customers are looking at you quizzically, eager to pounce on you so that you can help them with whatever pointless problem plagues them, and you're glad your jacket obscures the Best Buy logo on your blue polyester polo. As you arrive at the Customer Service counter, a young woman with jet black hair and bright green eyes, hidden behind dorky looking circular glasses eyes you over. "You must be David!" She says cheerfully, and you force a frown to _not_ come over your face. How you hate being called your full name. Lalonde knows why and she uses it against you all. The. Time.

The young woman behind Customer Service rounds the corner to meet you, and from the looks of her long black skirt and unkempt, thick head of hair, you can imagine she gets all the hot guys. Definitely. Nevertheless, she seems nice, and so you decide to gently correct her, instead of being the obtuse asshole your other friends know you to be, "It's nice to meet you," you lie plainly, your fake positive tone as transparent as her glasses, "But I go by Dave." Your addendum is met with a puzzled expression before a dusting of pink appears on the girl's face.

"I'm so sorry!" She says hurriedly and it's then you notice her nametag, which has the name Jade written on it. It's a bit of a heavy handed metaphor for a girl with such brilliantly green eyes to have the name Jade, and you bet that she loves to use green text, too. "I'm Jade, as you probably saw," she taps her nametag once, and you merely offer a nod, though she continues, "Company policy doesn't allow for sun glasses inside, but I hear our Operations' Manager allowed it, so if anyone gives you any guff, bring 'em to me!" She says, looking more and more awkward as you don't speak.

You nod once, hooking your thumbs into the pockets of your dress pants, "Thanks." The one word seems to placate her for the moment, and you take a second to make note of the other individual at Customer Service. You'll be working up there mostly, so it's best to figure out who's who in your new living nightmare. A young man looking to be a year or two younger than you with black hair and dark brown eyes is leering at you mistrustfully from a distance, and his brows are creased with disdain. Jade follows your gaze, and waves a hand dismissively at her co-worker, "Oh, don't mind Karkat. He's a big jerk half the time, but you get used to it. He'll grow on you, I'm sure!"

You can't help but inwardly smirk at how unhappy you could make him with merely a few modifications to his name. Karkitty came to mind, and you believe you'll keep to it for a while. Karkat huffs once at Jade's shooing, and eventually walks through a set of hanging black, plastic… things. It looked like the entrance to a carwash, but that'd just be a silly name for the place behind Customer Service. "Anyways, I'll go grab Tavros, he's our Supervisor, and will be giving you your tour."

Deciding to be coy, and moreover because it's in your nature, you lean forward, your expressionless face inches from her own, "Can't you, Jade?" Her eyes widen behind her glasses and she pushes them up without thinking. A deep flush overcomes her face, and she sputters out an incoherent answer, though you don't listen at all. You're too triumphant in your ability to woo random girls at the drop of a hat.

However your parade is thoroughly rained on as you hear a new voice coming from the black-plastic curtains that don't hide anything. You need to think of a better name for that place. A scrawny looking fellow with black hair and a tuft of orange sticking awkwardly out in the front hurries toward you, clipboard in hand, "David! I was getting worried, it's been 3 minutes since I expected you, hahaha!" His fake laugh is completely plastic, and it's clear that this is Tavros and you two already don't like one another.

* * *

"I'd like to think I'm great with people, " you lie shamelessly as you're walked around the story by an overly positive, yet somehow off-putting supervisor. You think his name was Tavros, but such a ridiculous wouldn't ever be owned by a human being, right? Nevertheless, the young supervisor who looks to be younger than you, nods eagerly at your words, eating all the bullshit up like it was a political convention.

You continue down what they call the 'Race Track,' but in reality it's just a strip of cheap linoleum that separates filthy carpet from its equally filthy likeness across the way. The _Race Track_ makes a wobbly square in the store, separating customer service and the tills at the front and to the left in the store, home theater all across the right side of the store, computers in the back, gaming in the back left corner, while mobile and cameras are in the centre. Tavros is rattling terms off like 'connected solutions' and 'digital imaging,' but fuck him and his weird, orange-brown streaked hair, that shit is computers and cameras.

You turn with the _Race Track_, as you sarcastically refer to it in your head, and pause as a newcomer comes up to you two, ignoring you entirely. She's, unsurprisingly, a teenager in an equally unflattering blue polo with a name tag with another stupid name on it: Aradia. Who the hell names their child Aradia, you wonder? Her parents must have been hippies. "Tavros, I'm selling a laptop with a Total Protection Plan, is it okay if I do $50 off?" Her tone was completely devoid of joy, and so you find her to be an admirable example of how to not give a shit here.

Your guide stops, a fist placed over his mouth as he contemplates the situation deeply. Aradia had the laptop under arm and it looked to be something a mediocre gamer would use, since a true gamer would have it custom built and would never use a laptop, but it was certainly expensive enough to warrant fifty stupid dollars.

You're really beginning to not like this store. Aradia may be pretty, but her lack of ability to make a simple decision is grating on your frayed nerves. Why are they frayed, you ask yourself? … Why would you ask yourself, you know why: Bro was mocking you for working in this dump for the past week and it pissed you off. Even at the age of twenty eight, Bro is still as immature as ever. "Okay, you can do it, but make sure they know it's a big deal!" Tavros says reluctantly, shaking his head in defeat. As Aradia goes to leave, he sputters out a garbled wait, and she turns around, a brow quizzically raising, "Aradia, I almost forgot to introduce you to our newest associate! This is David, he'll be working with our online pickups and whatnot."

She gives you an awkward wave before blurting out "Hi." With that, Aradia leaves, laptop and paltry discount in hand. Well, metaphorical hand; you can't hold a discount. The tour continues and Tavros is already blabbering on about the company vision and about how Best Buy wasn't like any other big company, but you knew that was shit.

As you continue on your way, you see a few employees gathered around a long desk in front of the new UHD and 4K HD TVs, and from the group one young man separates. You can't get a good look at him, but from the insane amount of keys hanging off one belt loop and the phone hooked into his pants, you assume he's a manager of some sort. He has the strangest hairstyle you've seen in a while; black strands stuck out in random angles and waves, and alone they looked terrible, however terrible it seemed perfectly put together. You could tell he wore a pair of rectangular glasses, but beyond that you couldn't make anything out for sure: he was already racing off in the other direction.

You give a mental shrug, you'll no doubt not like him. He's probably another fake douche like Tavros. You're surprised this guy hasn't gotten his ass beaten down in the ghetto neighbourhood around the store. Something about a shopping district seems to bring out all the weird ones. You'll have to make a bet with Jade that if he wheels himself in on a wheelchair, she'll owe you a coke.

As you contemplate the ironic fineries of making an intricate bet about a crippled Tavros with a girl whom you flirted with for no reason whatsoever, you feel your phone vibrate repeatedly for a few seconds, indicating someone was madly texting you. Ignoring it for now, your tour guide has brought you back to Customer Service where a very fat and sweaty man is brow beating Jade. Or at least, you thought he was until she speaks: "Sir you can take your return to another store, because the moment you swear at me is the moment you're no longer welcome."

Her words are calm, but she's clearly pissed. Her verdant gaze is flickering with intensity, and you feel a smirk tug at your lips as you watch the large man's little eyes go wide with shock. Tavros is already on his way to intervene, and evidently the irate customer is more than happy to talk to the man with the italicised word 'Supervisor' written below their name. "Excuse me, _Tavros_, but can you tell your employee that she needs to get her facts straight? She says she can't return external hard drives once they're opened," his tone is entirely condescending, and the fake smile the plucky supervisor was wearing fades like a dream.

"Sir you swore at my associate. Please leave," are his words, and you find yourself surprised at Tavros' lack of willingness to bend over backward to the guy. Good for him, you surmise, it's good to see a bit of moral fibre- "But once you've calmed down, I can definitely do the return for you." And there goes that glimmer of hope.

At his words, Jade merely walks into the place-behind-the-weird-carwash-curtains, and you decide to join her. She seems pretty cool, after all. You can hear Tavros practically massaging the fat guy's chode with his apologies and promises to discipline Jade, but you doubt he'll actually go through with it. That seems like more confrontation that a weird guy like that is willing to do through. He seems to lack self-confidence, and you're going to exploit that somehow.

Behind the carwash rubber things is an area where products are held. Simply put, it's a narrow hallway with shelves on either side, filled with people's junk. The lowest shelf is about four feet below the one above it, allowing one to sit if they so desired. Jade is doing just that a ways away from you, and her phone is in her hand, though the screen is blank and she appears to just be staring at her reflection. "Is it always like that?" You ask, taking a seat next to her.

Jade pockets her phone and shakes her head, "No, it's always like this. Rude customers trying to bully their way into getting things. Tavros buckles half the time because he doesn't want them getting mad at him. John won't stop him because he's too busy and stressed to care, and, eugh…" The black haired girl stood, looking through the slits between the rubber privacy… thing.

Deciding to not be a morally abhorrent individual, you keep the topic away from ironic statements, and inquire who John is: "John? I don't think I met thing." Jade looks back at you, a bit puzzled as to why you would not have, or so you assume from the face she's giving you. Pushing a few strands of messy black hair back, she leans against the shelf behind her, placing her hands on its cool, beveled edge.

"John's our Operations Manager. He and I go way back; we went to the same junior high and high school. We got jobs at the same time, but after some stuff, he stayed with the company and I stayed as part time while I went to school," her words were strangely vague, though out of respect you decide not to press the topic out of respect for your clearly beleaguered co-worker. Silence falls over the two of you as you contemplate her words, worrying you might not like the lifer twenty-something boss. Though after your little spat with Bro, you're sure even the worst of managers couldn't annoy you.

The way he had looked at you after hitting you… Sure, you two had strifed countless times over the years, but you had never seen Bro look so… disappointed. About six months ago, shortly after your twenty first birthday, your music sales online had tanked, your DJ gigs had dried up, and eventually you spent what money you were making. You weren't a superstar or anything, but you did well off your sales and were proud of your ironic empire of sick beats and of course the Hella Jeff series, and when you lost them, well…

You shake your head, now wasn't the time to be thinking about how you screwed up. Bro had taken a long time to forgive you, but according to Roxy he had never been angry. He had been scared that he was going to use you. You weren't sure you believe the alcoholic Lalonde, but her heart was in the right place, if not her blood alcohol level.

The quiet ambience was abruptly interrupted as the black flaps were pushed back and a rather cross looking Karkat stood in the doorway, leering at Jade. "Are you going to sit back her texting like a damned sludge-maker or are you going to help me with returns?" Jade sighed once more and walked past her cross looking compatriot, giving a small wave to you, which you respond to with a cool-kid nod. Karkat looks at you and speaks: "Listen newbie, don't follow her example. All she does it bitch about how her and John aren't friends. Yeah, she's totally flushed for him, I bet," he grins triumphantly for a moment before looking back outside the carwash-hold place.

You decide you'll call it the hold to save time. It also sounds very cool. Ironically so, since this is a Best Buy and one of the last places you'd want to be. "Oh man, _another_ laptop return…" Karkat groans, slipping into the hold and leaning against the shelf where Jade had been, and notably begins to bemoan his situation just like she had, "Fuckin' wigglers, with their dumbshit problems…" Well, if you weren't already sure, which you were because you're a smart guy, you'd be damn sure by now that Karkat is one vulgar motherfu-

"Karkat, can I get you to take a few returns? Thanks," A new voice sounds from across the hold. Standing at a distance was the same young man you had seen turned away. However now facing toward you, you can see that he's has fair skin, a slim build with no fat on him whatsoever, and with two bright blue eyes. Positioned behind a pair of rectangular framed glasses, the individual before you looked like a total dork, but in a very… casual and friendly manner, not a Cheetos and sweatpants way. From the large ring of keys on his waist, to the lan-line phone hooked into the back of his pants, you're more sure than ever that this guy is management. "Dave!" He says in a casual tone, "Good to see you."

Moreover he's exactly how Jade described John, their Operations Manager. He takes a few hurried steps forward and extends a hand, which you take in your own. His slender fingers grasp your palm with a strange warmth, and as you merely stare at him, he shakes your hand, explaining that he was the Operations and Product Process Manager for your Best Buy. Though you weren't listening; something about his eyes and how he was talking to you so casually. He seems like a cool guy, someone you could play a video game or two with at four am. Maybe being a plebeian shit at Best Buy won't be so bad.

"Ah, David, can I borrow you for another cashier?" Tavros abruptly appears between you two, and you can feel your brows furrow slightly.

Well, it wasn't going to be a fucking cakewalk, that's for sure.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well I've had a bit of time off this week, so here's chapter two! _

_A big thank you goes out to Annie Nonymous for their review. Keep the love coming, folks, it's very inspiring!_

_I've never actually written a fanfiction in this style, so it's still all new ground for me, so please be patient with me._

* * *

You can feel your mind trying to implode as you listen to bullet after bullet on the white board on you be read aloud by the most unhappy sounding manager you've ever met, and you know that, somewhere in the city around you, some English jackass is calling your disposition 'bully.' Sometimes you think life throws you curveballs like these to make you feel like the loser you actually are more than the cool kid you appear to be.

"So as you can see, to keep the store and company going strong, we need 110% from everyone," John drawls on without any fake enthusiasm. You felt bad for the guy; he looked to be at _most_ twenty, and here he was, talking to you about renewing Best Buy's profits. You feel like that insufferable prick Karkat might have a point about shush-papping people, whatever that means. Your operations manager eyes you for a moment, and you're thankful that Bro was willing to bullshit a doctor's note indicating you needed to wear your shades indoors, thus allowing you to not be seen when you space out on boring nonsense like this. "Dave, with all that we've gone through, how do you think you'll help the store and the company?"

This fool has no idea what he's asking you. You're Dave _fucking_ Strider, the one and only badass to have championed a sweet internet comic that actually produced enough money to live on _and _a successful DJ career that just padded your wallet with dough. You know how a business works, and you know that you could be a vital asset to this company.

But fuck that shit, you're not here to revolutionise anything.

"I think that my main attribute would be my ability to adapt to change," that was kind of a lie, but what does mister sold-his-soul-to-a-company need to know that for? "It's important that a business like this stays profitable, yeah? My sick raps always adapt to whatever curveball my opposition throws at me without fail." That was a total lie, your only opponent was Bro and he was a lyricist of the highest calibre when it came to rap. Thankfully there aren't many calibres of casual rap battles, so you're pretty close to his level.

John gives you a perplexed look at the mention of 'sick raps,' though doesn't ask about it. Instead he looks back to the whiteboard behind him and just sighs for a moment, "Hey Dave, sit tight for a minute, I'll be back in a moment." Without waiting for a reply, he hurries to the door, opens it, and hooks the knob onto the wall to keep it open before walking down to the far side of the product hold. You watch him behind the impenetrable veil of your shades, but you can see he's holding something in.

Procuring his phone from his pocket, he taps the screen a few times before holding it to his ear and begins a conversation. "Hi, dad? Sorry for missing your call, I was training a new guy," he pauses for a moment, nodding to nothing, before running a hand through his disheveled head of hair. For a corporate schmuck, he wasn't too hard on the eyes, you decide. He looked like a more tame version of Jake, except with those brilliant, if tired looking eyes.

He was slim, though not as skinny as you are, and you can tell that his job has padded his narrow frame with much needed muscle. However, and likely much to your manager's chagrin, he's not even remotely bulked up, and instead looks more the part of a swimmer than anything. "Don't worry about me, really, dad. I'll be home soon, I promise, just get some rest, okay? I'll…" He trails off, pulling at the loose collar of his uniform, "I'll bake a cake," he says, sounding as though the very words were like daggers in his chest.

Who doesn't want to bake a cake? If you could bake a cake, you'd be dead from a sugar overdose as soon as the thing was done being frosted. John's a weird dude, you decide. But from what you can hear from his conversation, he's got some family problems. With a few whispered words you can't here, he pockets his phone and hurries back to the room you're currently in. Closing the door, he looks a bit embarrassed as he sees you were watching him, "Sorry about that, Dave, where were we?"

Deciding to be a bro – no, not that word. Deciding to be a cool guy, you throw John a curveball, "Yo, John," you begin, and he stops as he rounds the far side of the long table you were seated at, "You seem a bit, uh… _distracted_. Listen, I'm not feelin' too well as it is, so maybe we could call it a day and pick it up tomorrow? Looks like you could use some time off yourself." Your words come off with a sarcastic edge, and you curse at yourself silently for being a douche to the guy with a sick father, but then again your father figure was your Bro and he's a giant douche, so…

John seems to weigh his options as he looks between you and the board behind him, before his posture abruptly relaxes and he nods, "Bring your induction pack home with you and give it a quick once over, kay?" You nod, though have absolutely no intention of doing that. It'll probably sit in your car and catch on fire in the furnace that thing turns into during the summer. "So, uh, yeah… I'll let you do that," he mumbles as he stands, slipping on a zip-up hoodie which had a strange, azure wavy emblem on the front which you could not identify.

"See you around, dude," you wave as he practically jogs out of the room, leaving you to yourself. Well, no need to leave so soon while you were still on the clock, right? You pull your phone from your pocket and open the increasingly popular app, Pesterchum. As per usual, you have a message that was sent only a few minutes earlier from Rose.

_-tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:23-_

_TT: Given the fact that I have not received any correspondence from you as of yet, I will assume your first day of work has gone well._

_TG: oh yeah, real peachy_

_TT: There is no need for sarcasm, David. I am inquiring about your wellbeing._

_TG: gee thanks lalonde_

_TG: you're always such a caring friend_

_TG: anyways the job is a real shit show_

_TG: one of the girls who works here looks like a girl-jake_

_TG: fuck, gotta get that thought out of my head_

_TT: What thought, if I may ask?_

_TG: jake in a dress_

_TT: Oh, I see. That admission on your part speaks volumes about your character._

_TG: quit analyzing and feel bad for me lalonde_

_TT: I'm very sorry you have to work at Best Buy, but I'm sure it's not all bad._

_TG: might be right_

_TG: at least my boss seems cool enough_

_TG: if being a giant nerd can be considered cool_

_TG: you know he looks like jake. shit, why is everyone suddenly looking like that weird fuck?_

_TT: I think you might have a secret crush for your brother's fiancé. _

_TG: that's horrifying lalonde_

_TG: you're using your tentacles for evil again_

_TG: stop it_

_TT: Very well. So what makes your boss a bearable entity in your new life?_

_TG: not really sure, just seems like a solid dude_

_TG: i think his dad is sick or something. he booked it outta here like his ass had somethin to fear_

_TT: Please, David. It's very late here, don't start rhyming._

_TG: you never appreciate my efforts_

_TT: Apparently I must away, David. Kanaya is worrying about my sleep again, and I'd rather not be at the other end of her displeasure. _

_TG: so whipped_

_TG: later lalonde_

_TT: And to you, Strider._

Well, that was thoroughly aggravating and unproductive. You're still unsure why you talk to her. Probably because when you actually want to be psychoanalyzed she's always game. Crazy chick. Nevertheless you rise from your seat and exit the meeting room with introduction package under arm and casually make your way to the break room across the store. A customer tries to flag you down, but you pretend to not hear him. Fuck that guy, you're a busy man.

Though the look on John's face plagues you for a moment. He seemed really worried about his father, and you can't help but wonder what's going on there. It's none of your business, and you imagine he wouldn't tell you if he asked. The little dude needs more sleep, that's for sure. Well, that's his problem, and—"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Oh yeah, that guy's on break.

Karkat looks up from one of the two couches facing some shitty old TV, his dark eyes peering at you with unabashed irritation. Most of you hates this guy, but part of you finds his outbursts hilarious, and you decide to irritate him more. Your day was already shit, may as well guide it into feces sea by your hand, right?

You slowly walk over to behind where he's sitting, and lean over next to his ear, and say in the flattest of tones possible: "I just couldn't wait to see you again, Karkitty." At that, he swipes at your head, but thanks to all the strifing you and bro do, you're far too fast for the little guy, and his hands meet air. "Gotta be faster than that, bud," you say as you make your way to the coat rack, grabbing your crimson jacket off a bent hanger and sling it on.

As you go to leave, you hear the only other person in the room stand, and you look casually back to find Karkat staring at you. "Hey Dave," he begins awkwardly, "Gimmie your chumhandle. A lazy cumdumpster like yourself is going to sleep in and need to be contacted. Better me than someone like Ampora, right? That titgargling fuckhead is insufferable." The offer hangs in the air as young consider whether the illusive general manager of the store would really be worse than Karkat calling you to tell you that you missed a shift.

Deciding that it was of little concern, especially given the fact you have idiots like Jake on your Pesterchum for no adequately explained reason, you nod once and walk toward the angry little man, "Gimmie your phone." Karkat looks at you suspiciously and, with growing impatience, you simply grab it out of his hand and type in your chumhandle. You're a real problem solver. "Just don't gush over me too much, Karkitty."

You can hear him shouting colourful profanities at you as you leave the break room, but you don't care, you're just relieved at the thought of being free of Best Buy for a while.

* * *

You think about being Dave again, but the concept of trying to be a person you just met is a bit absurd, so instead you settle for being John.

You know you're speeding, and frankly you don't care. You hear the honks of angry drivers around you, yet it only serves to force you to press on ever faster. Dad's face flashes through your mind for a moment; pale and gaunt with his hollow eyes only barely registering your existence as you realise that – you stop thinking about that right away. Nihilistic thinking wasn't good for anyone involved.

You see your off-ramp and you move across four lanes of traffic in one fell swoop, earning the concert of honking behind you as you cut countless drivers off. You give an absent wave of apology, but frankly with your hands gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles have gone white is only proof of how worried you are. Dad sounded really sick on the phone and though he didn't ask for you to come home, you're going to anyways. You can't lose him _and_ mom, even if you don't remember her much.

You pull in front of your dad's house and throw the door of your old Toyota open, ignoring the worrying creak it gives when you do that before slamming it closed and fumbling with your keys in your aching hands. You didn't realise you were as nervous as you were, but the lack of sleep seems to help exasperate your nerves in times like these.

The front door to the house you grew up in opens, and you're skipping steps as you ascend the staircase and round the corner to your father's room. The door is ajar, and you can hear the steady beep of a heartrate monitor. _At least he's alive_ you think morbidly to yourself. You hate this, you hate worrying that your dad might be dead sooner than you could manage. Then again, you'll likely never be able to be prepared for him to die.

You miss the shaving cream attacks, the endless baking, the unfaltering worrying about your 'pastry intake' when you moved out. You miss all his annoying quirks so badly that you can feel your throat clench up with emotion, though you swallow it down, not wishing to worry your father. You push open the door to once more see the narrow hospital bed that had replaced the big, plush bed you had jumped on as a child. Next to it is a night table with a lamp, a picture of you and your sister Jane, a picture of your mom, his hat and finally his pipe. All the things that meant so much and helped make him who he was summed up on a nightstand.

You didn't like it; you didn't like any of it. But the man who lies in the bed before you offers you a bright, if tired smile, "John!" He exclaims, and you hurry to his side, wrapping your arms around the man lightly, worried you might hurt him, "I didn't want to pull you away from work. Really, you don't need to worry like this." His voice is weak, and you can feel his ribs. He's been losing too much weight recently, and it's really worrying you.

"Dad," you begin as calmly as you can, "Don't worry about me. I make good money to help you here and myself." He goes to protest, though you shake your head, "Really, I don't mind. I haven't seen you for a while. Eridan can manage without me for a while… How are you feeling?" You decide not to mention how he looks, since merely uttering the words would send either one of you into a sobbing mess.

He smiles again, but you can tell it's forced. He knows you're losing sleep over his health, and you know he's losing sleep over you losing sleep. Egberts are a bunch of worrywarts, and Crockers are little better. "Oh your old dad's had better days. Maybe I was just feeling a bit lonely and decided to fake being sick to get you to come over, eh?" He nudges you with his elbow, and you both laugh lightly at the lame prank that would be. You're both much better than that. "I'll beat this, John. You just watch me. Your dad's gonna be here every step of the way."

You feel like just breaking down into tears on him, to beg him to get better and not leave you, but you don't, and instead crack a joke to make him smile: "Every step of the way. With a can of shaving cream to ruin whatever moment was being made." At your joke, you both laugh brightly, and for a moment his sickness is forgotten as you two share in your love of pranking.

However the moment comes crashing down as your dad lets out a few hacking coughs, and covers his mouth with his hand. Though he's too late and a splatter of blood appears on the white covers of the sheets he's pulled up over his waist. "Dad!" You croak miserably, and after all your inner strength he sees for a split second how tormented his sickness is making you. The look of sheer guilt on his face is crushing, and you look away for a long moment, trying to compose yourself.

He pats your shoulder, "I'm okay, really. My nose was bleeding a bit ago, I think it settled in the back of my throat until now." His words come out quickly, and you know that, just as you do, he's lying if he starts talking quickly like that. You decide not to challenge him on the point and merely nod, avoiding his stare. "I'm feeling better, you know. Maybe you coming over healed me!" He jokes, though you can't even manage a laugh. He nudges you after you stay silent for a while, and you look over, "Maybe your sister wants to come over? We could have dinner like the good old days."

You like that idea a lot. Frankly, you love it. "Sure dad, I'll be one sec. Let me call Janey." With that, you're standing once more and have your phone at your ear, the ringing quickly driving you insane in your impatience. "Jane? Hi!" You beam as she picks up the phone, promptly interrupting her 'hello' before it's even uttered, "I'm over at dad's, wanna come over for dinner?"

"_You know John, in some families it's considered rude to not wait for the person you call to say hello,_" she jabs playfully, her ever cheerful tone calming your frayed emotions. You go to disagree, but she interrupts you instead, "_Yeah yeah, I know, we're not a normal family. Trust me, I've noticed. Anyways, I'm just finishing up at work right now, so maybe I'll have Roxy close up the office for me and I'll come swing by before rush hour._"

You look back to your dad who's giving you an expectant, hopeful look. You're pretty sure any person even loosely related to your father has the most adorable puppy-dog expression on their faces when they want something, and even in his sickly state, your father masters it. "Awesome! I'll get everything started, you can work on desert!"

"_John, that's not-"_ You cut her off with a sweet, innocent, and decidedly evil "Bye Janey!" Before pressing the end call button. Your father's laughing again, and you flash him a devious grin. He loved making baked goods, but she and you hate it. It's always nice to get the upper hand with Jane from time to time.

* * *

It's about an hour and a half later, and you're in mid lasagna prepping, when you hear the front door open. At one point you three all lived in the same house, so it just feels natural to walk in. You haven't changed from work and are still wearing your Best Buy polo, but you're so used to it you barely notice. The door closes and from living room Jane walks in, clad in knee length baby blue dress looking straight out of the fifties. You two were cousins, but her parents had died in a plane crash years ago, and so your dad adopted her on the spot. Sure, it took months for it to be legal, but when you saw her at your aunt and uncle's funeral, alone and crying on their coffins, you knew you had to do something. Apparently your dad had thought the same and as you went to ask him to let her stay with them, he was already asking her the same.

"John, how could you dump desert prep on me, you little scoundrel!?" She growls as she storms into the kitchen, her heels clacking on the tiled floor noisily before she's got you in a headlock, giving you a noogie. You whine and try to free yourself, but for such a little lady, her strength is impressive, and she's not letting go, "This is what happens, Johnathon Egbert!" She giggles gleefully and through her laughter, you find an opening and slip out of her grasp.

However before either of you can see it coming, you're covered in a light, fluffy, and decidedly minty scented foam. "Dad!" You cry out angrily, though you're already laughing at being so thoroughly bested at the master prankster. Wiping away copious amounts of shaving cream, you look over at Jane, who's lamenting over her ruined hair in the mirror next to the entryway.

"Admit it kids, I got you," he says weakly, offering an impressively loud laugh for such a sick man. After successfully sluffing off all the damned foam, you find your father eyeing your cooking. "So far so good, son. But it looks like you forgot onion," he wags a finger at you playfully, though you only groan, lightly pushing his hand away.

You stand between your half-finished lasagna and your father defiantly, "Only weirdos put onion in lasagna!" Jane offers a sagely nod in agreement as she speaks, and you grin at your outnumbered father. "Oh, dad," she says suddenly as she looks him over. He was wearing one of his signature work get ups, even though he hasn't worked in months: white collared shirt, black tie, black pants and black dress shoes. Though where his once strong frame filled out the garb, it now hung loosely off his thin frame.

Jade is quickly hugging your father, and you can see his eyes fill with guilt again as he reciprocates the loving gesture, "Oh now now, Jade. Don't you worry about me, it's like I told John, I'm going to be here for a long time yet. Don't bury me before I'm dead, or you're getting boxes that explode with shaving cream for Christmas again!" You shudder at the memory. It was _everywhere_ and it took you three weeks to get out of the furniture. "Tell you kids what: Jane; go clean up in the washroom, John; go grab a bottle of wine from the basement. I'll finish preparing dinner."

You go to refuse, but he waves his hand, "No arguing, young man, to the booze!" Jane goes in to argue on your behalf, but dad merely puts his frail hands on her shoulders, turns her around, and sends her on her way to shower, "You too, pretty lady!" He calls as she slowly ascends the staircase.

As you make your way to the basement door, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Removing the device from its cotton confines, you find a message on Pesterchum from Jade:

_-gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 17:05-_

_GG: john! Is daddy Egbert alright?_

_GG: c'mon speak to me!_

_GG: earth to john_

_GG: come in John_

_EB: woah there! settle down! dad's alright, I think he was just lonely. don't get me wrong, it's fine. i miss him as much as he misses me._

_GG: good, you had me worried!_

_GG: anyways, what are you two goofballs doing? i bet someone's had a close encounter with the shaving cream kind again. ;)_

_EB: please do not remind me. even sick like this, he is still an ace with those damned things. _

Jade stops responding, and so you descend into the basement, however at the foot of the stairs, your phone vibrates and lights up in your hand, indicating you have a new message.

_GG: sorry, work happened!_

_EB: all cool!_

_GG: so did you see the new guy? mister cool-guy-mc-shades-pants?_

_EB: cool guy mc shades pants? _

_GG: yeah, dave!_

_EB: oh, dave, right! sorry jade, my mind is all wooooo_

_EB: he seems like a nice guy, I think he'll do well with our store_

_GG: boooooring! i was asking what you thought of him, silly._

You look up again. You hadn't really given it much thought after the commotion of your father's call. Dave seemed like the epitome of a cool kid, and even though you are his boss, you wish you could emulate his relaxed demeanour. His face comes to mind, and you can't help but feel a little jealous at just how… put together he looks!

You look at your reflection in your phone. Bags under your eyes, your hair is a mess, and you're still wearing your uniform. You wish you were as handsome as Dave – wait.

John Egbert, you did not just call your employee handsome in your head.


	3. Chapter 3

_I must say, writing in the manner with which Homestuck has been written is a difficult task! However I do believe I am getting better._

_Nevertheless, reviews are greatly appreciated, and with only two I worry I am not delivering. If you believe there to be something to be lacking, by all means, tell me and I shall do my utmost to make it happen!_

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and man, are you ever glad that day is over. Maybe all your coworkers are talking anuses that need to be plugged, but you're quite certain your customer base is probably a perfect example of why some people shouldn't be allowed to breed. Within your first five minutes, you saw a man yell at Jade about a hard drive, a woman chew out Karkat for muttering 'shit' when he closed the cash drawer on his finger (which frankly you're impressed he didn't scream it, given his vulgarity away from customers) and one kid call John an inept shit. You especially didn't like that last kid, though you're not sure why.

Nevertheless, with air conditioning drying your eyes out as you drive down the inner city highway, you can't help but remark to yourself that the kid really did get under your skin, and that's quite the accomplishment, given the fact that you are, as mentioned previously, Dave _fucking_ Strider. You're not _a _cool kid, you're _the_ cool kid.

John seems like a nice enough guy, and you thinks it's shit that he got shit on like that. Moreover, he just took it! You think that annoys you more; John needs to stand up to himself, and by the looks of those bags under his eyes and how he seems to be perpetually packing energy drinks, he needs to stand up to his dick boss, whom you have never even met.

According to Jade, the elusive Eridan Ampora, aka your General Manager, doesn't actually come into the store as much as he used to ever since John transferred in from Washington. You wonder why anyone would be stupid enough to leave Washington for Texas, but these things happen.

You abruptly feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, on the shitty little display in your car, you can see that Jade is calling you. Why did you even give her your number? Clearly it was a lapse in otherwise sound judgement, but it would be rude not to answer, and a Strider is always a ladies man, if ironically for both living Striders. Pressing the pickup button on your car's stereo, the rustling of something in the background reverberates: "Dave's crematorium, you kill 'em, I'll grill 'em," you speak casually, an elbow propped up against the window as you drive with one hand. You cool kid, you.

"Very funny, Dave," Jade says, laughing on the other end. Things become awkwardly quiet, but you allow her to collect her thoughts before speaking again; she tends to get a bit sidetracked, and that's probably why her fingers are covered in those lame reminder pieces of string. "Oh, right!" She says abruptly, and you nod to yourself, "John asked me to call you to give you your schedule, lemme just find it here…"

Evidently she's lost your schedule, and you chuckle faintly to yourself. She's a nice girl, and you wonder why she puts up with people like Karkat and their customers, and so you speak up: "While you find it, tell me why you work at Best Buy, Jade." Your question comes out more like a statement, but you decide to not correct yourself: that would be admitting a mistake and would consequently give her leverage in the conversation.

If there's one thing Bro's ever taught you, it's that you should never allow the person you're speaking with to have any unwanted leverage on you. Sometimes if you lead them into making a clever jab at you, you can cleverly respond and put yourself all the higher, but being more a reclusive fellow, you rarely opt for Bro's more overt tactics of social discourse. "Well, it's simple, really!" Jade responds after giving the question a 'hm' of thought, "John and I have been friends forever, and I worry about him; his dad's really sick and he worries about the ol' guy all the time. He'd be all alone at work if I left…" She trails off, sounding sad.

You frown; you enjoy having conversational leverage, but not making a sweet girl like Jade feel bad. Deciding to lighten the mood, you decide bringing up the grumpy Vantas will help immensely; "What about Karkat? He and John seem to be on casual enough terms. He wouldn't be _all_ alone," though as you say it you know that the little angry fellow is pretty piss poor emotional support.

"Karkat means well," you snort at her comment, and she tuts sharply, "Hey now! He has his moments. He just… gets a bit fired up… all the time. But most of the time he's not very good at saying nice things when people need to hear them. When John and Vriska broke up, he told John that "at least he could go gay, since the most insufferable bulge sniffer dumped him." Poor John was practically in hysterics." He feel a sudden heaviness in your chest; a constricting tightness that seems to drag at your heart. John had a girlfriend?

Trying to push it away, you continue talking, "You might have a point, Karkat is an angry little fucker. I don't mean to pry here, Harley, but what's wrong with John's dad?" You can practically picture the little nerd sitting next to some equally nerdy guy in a bed. You bet they like to prank one another, and the mental image is both painfully lame and very sweet.

Wait. It's not sweet.

Things are not sweet to Striders.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind me saying, just don't gossip about it! I don't need to hear the new guy who gets to wear shades inside is a big ol' clucking hen!" You agree to her stipulation, silently imagining a chicken with your badass shades on. You decide to call this cool clucker you've imagined Jeff after your former internet comic character. Jade continues her story as your imagery culminates and is stored for ironic purposes in the near future, "John's dad has failing kidneys; apparently it's something that runs in the family. He's on a waiting list for replacements, but you know how this stuff is… The kidney dialysis is super expensive, and so John works extra hours all the time to afford it. His cousin Jane does the same, since she was raised by his dad."

You nod to yourself, finding John's noble sacrifice of free time to be a noble one; it almost brings a tear to your eye, yo. "What a stand up guy, that Egbert," you say calmly, and Jade quickly agrees, "I get the feeling that he doesn't normally act how he acts at work. He seems so restrained at the store, you feel me?" You can feel your weird, casual lingo starting to slip out, and Jade seems to enjoy it, so you ignore your misgivings.

"He's nothing like how he acts at work! Before his dad got sick he was this big, bubbly, softy who watched movies like Conair all the time and nerded out with Karkat, myself and the others constantly – oh, I found your schedule! Your next shift is tomorrow at 9:00 am. Sorry Dave, but I gotta go, my break is almost over." Her words speed up the longer she speaks and you can only smirk at her energetic mannerisms. She reminds you of Jake a little, but les… British. You decide the fact that she's a bearable version of the Englishman whom you've grown to fear seeing in your brother's bed is a good thing, since you'll never have to see her eerily toned ass –

You're going to stop there, before you scar yourself.

* * *

You can hear movement from inside your apartment as you go to put your key into the lock. You can't hear any voices, but you can hear what appears to be the clanging of cookware. Bro doesn't cook, and Rose would never make such a clamor if she had come over before you had returned… Oh no. You slam the key into the lock, almost breaking it in half as you turn the lock, before throwing the door open, keys dangling from the lock. Sprinting down the short hallway, you round the corner to find a man facing away from you.

He's wearing an absurdly short and tight pair of shorts which reach, at best, the middle of his thighs, twin empty holsters on his hips, and an untucked green plaid shirt, likely with a black tank top underneath. His black hair sticks up wildly and you point at him, practically screaming: "Put the muffin tin down, English!"

He jumps slightly, abruptly dropping the cookware and turning to face you, his hands raised in the air. Vivid green eyes look at you, shocked and hurt, and his mouth is a thin line of worry as he observes you. You can see why your brother is so enamoured with the fellow, and if not for his ridiculous personality and the fact that he's about six years older than you, you'd definitely see what was hiding in those booty shorts.

But today is not a day to wonder what hides beneath the short cotton trousers of Jake English; instead it is a day to protect the safety of the apartment complex from his accidental wrath. "The last time you baked something my microwave caught fire and forbade you from the kitchen!" You step forward, your voice still raised, though it only seems to hurt his feelings further.

You can feel your convictions crumble a bit as his eyes widen into the nefarious puppy dog eyes he throws at Bro when he wants something, but you hold your ground, "Well blimey, Dave…" he begins, lowering his hands to his pockets and looking away, "… I'm sorry." His words are pitiful and you can feel yourself biting your lip. Damn him for being so innocent! Why was he with a perverted smuppet loving freak like your brother, anyways?

"Eugh," you grumble, picking up the dropped tin and placing it on the counter, "It's okay, English," you pat him on the shoulder once as he looks over at you, practically on the verge of tears. He's always been a crier; when he destroyed your microwave, you had shouted at him for a good five minutes. Afterward, he had broken down in wracking sobs on the floor. You had felt terrible for a weak; both for hurting the idiot's feelings and for the horrific ass kicking Bro gave you for making his fiancé cry.

As if on cue, you feel the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a cool chill runs down your spine, and you can feel something soft and plush being pushed against your neck… A smuppet ass. "Are you being rude to Jake?" The bassy, dangerous voice of Dirk Strider rumbles into your right ear. You abruptly step back from the counter, finding your brother perched on it like some horrific bird from hell.

Donning a white collared shirt and a pair of ridiculous triangular shades, he stares at you with his hidden gaze, though you can tell he's seconds away from having you crumpled onto the floor, groaning in pain. "Mister Strider, play nice with your little brother!" English scolds as he walks over, affectionately rubbing Bro's cheek roughly, "He was just concerned for the safety of your flat."

Bro cocks his head at you, and you stare back, though you know he knows you're scared. Any sane man would be scared of him; he's pretty buff and is faster than anyone could imagine. Moreover, he's always packing smuppet heat and that shitty anime sword. Even now it's strapped to his back, ready for a strife. He vaults himself into the air and lands between you two, never ceasing his stare off with you: "Good. It'd be a shame if you had stop baking because Dave needed to go to the hospital," He grins at you darkly, and you merely flip him off.

Dirk plants a kiss on Jake's temple, and the latter flushes, still embarrassed at the former's displays of affection in front of family. You're a little weirded out, but you've grown so accustomed to seeing these two together that it's stopped majorly affecting you for a while now. Unsheathing the aforementioned shitty anime katana, Bro removes himself from the conversation as he polishes the blade, and Jake takes the advantage to speak again: "So tell me Dave, how was your first day of work?"

You're both glad and annoyed he asked; you'd like to bitch and whine about your life, but Bro would shower you in smuppets and explicit pony porn in the middle of the night if you don't act like a Strider. "It's aight, I guess. Customers are total assholes who need to be told where to stick it, but some of my coworkers seem like alright people. There's this one girl, Jade; looks like a total nerd, but seems cool." Your last comment seems to greatly interest your future brother in law, and the tanned Englishman blinks, his expressive visage surprised.

"Well I'll be buggered!" He swears… At least you think that's a swear; you're not sure why he speaks like this; he was raised by his grandma on an island with his cousin – oh damn it. "Jade Harley? Big glasses, black hair? She's my cousin!" Bro is smirking, and you know he knew ever since he went in to stalk your work before you started, "We should have her over, I'll make muffins for her!"

Bro places a hand on Jake's forearm, shaking his head, though remains silently. The Englishman grins, embarrassed once more, and nods; "Maybe when Dave's more adjusted to his job, yeah." Looking back to you, his wide eyes still full of wonder, he asks another question: "Anyone else you work with that I'd know? I feel so popular!" He puffs up his chest, grinning like a madman. Sometimes you really hate living with these two.

You shrug, leaning against the opposite counter from Bro, careful to avoid smuppet range, and look out the far window in the living room; "Karkat? He seems to be a friend of Jade's." English only gives a perplexed stare before shaking his head, "Figured as much; kid's too angry to be someone you'd remember," continuing you move onto the other notable person you met today: "Well there's Jade's friend and our manager; John." You almost scream a profanity as his face lights up with recognition, before falling into a more resigned visage.

He nods once, "I met him once; nice chap, but he wasn't really himself. Jade said the poor bloke's dad was sick and he was just told his kidneys were failing…"Once more, the ever emotionally compelled Jake seems to be on the verge of tears, however Bro is abruptly there, his large hand caressing the Englishman's face and drawing him into a kiss.

At that point, you're thoroughly disgusted and uncomfortable, so after offering a few disgruntled profanities at their lack of decency, you retreat down the hall across from the kitchen and enter your room, locking the door behind you after you close it. "My my, David, I didn't know you felt like that. But frankly you'll have to take me on _at least_ five dates before we get that far," a sophisticated, feminine voice sounds behind you, and once more your skin crawls.

Turning around, you find Rose seated in your desk chair, one leg crossed over another with her hands delicately folded in her lap. She wore a knee length black pencil skirt and a violet blouse. Her light blonde hair was done up in her typical style; well preened and quaffed. Overall, she looked the part of a world class psychologist, and with her piercing gaze, she seemed to know everything about a person with one look.

You silently wonder to yourself how she has any clients when she looks so damned intimidating to everyone but you, but decide to reply to her nonsense first: "The day we shack up is the day we all start playing some game which causes the end of the world." Looking around your room, you admire the mess Rose has no doubt been resisting the urge to clean, and as you finish your observations, you offer her a devious smirk.

"Wouldn't that be something?" She says, equally amused. For all the arguing you two do, you know she's likely your best friend, and you'll grudgingly admit that without her, Bro, Dirk and a few others, you probably would have ended it all after your life was turned upside down. You two can hear the slam of a door nearby, and you visibly cringe, "Those two certainly are… affectionate," she says as she retrieves an elegant teacup from your desk, sipping lightly.

You stare at the piece of fine china for a moment, "Where did you even _get_ that? I know for a fact that shit doesn't even fit Bro's fucked up sense of irony." She only shrugs, delighting in denying you your answers; she's always been like that, and it's always been frustrating. "… You brought it from home, didn't you? You went to all the trouble to bring a teacup with you, on a bus, a train, and then another bus, just to set up this image?" You snort derisively after she nods, "Only you, Lalonde… Only you."

"Indeed; only me. But my affinity for tea is one of the things Kanaya so admires in me. Therefore I shall not be ceasing my tea drinking anytime soon." Placing the teacup on your desk again, she stares at one of the many jars sitting on a shelf above the cluttered table. Thereupon the shelf sat a myriad of jars, all filled with preservative and with small, floating beings inside, "The things I could draw from that… Regardless, I heard you made friends with Jake's cousin. I'd very much like to speak with her sometime, perhaps I'll find her on Pesterchum. But that's not why I've come, I've come to see how you're doing, David."

"So it's Tentacle Therapy, then?" She merely nods, and you take a seat on the edge of your bed. Part of you greatly appreciates such an esteemed psychologist like Lalonde taking time out of her day to offer you free therapy, but another much larger part of you feels weak and pathetic and for appreciating it. Striders don't need outlets to bitch about their problems to; they master and solve those problems.

Frankly, you haven't been doing a lot of problem solving lately, and it's starting to grate on you. You're starting to feel like that kind of has been who just whines about how great his life was before whatever happened, and that thought scares you. Taking a breath, you reach up to remove your shades, and place your slender fingers on the armbands of your beloved eyewear before slowly removing them from your face.

The brightness of your room causes you to squint, however you grow accustomed to it and refocus your now bare gaze on Rose. She smiles ever so slightly at the display of your crimson eyes, and you begin: "Well, it's like this: I feel like, ever since my empire came crashing down, I've just been slowly dying…"

* * *

Following a rich and fully awful session with the tentacle therapist herself, you decide that life is too long and you need to shorten it greatly by drinking a great deal of high fructose corn syrup based drinks while consuming carbohydrate and calorie rich spheres containing caramelised sugar. That is to say, you're at 7-11 and you're buying pop and junk food.

Rose thinks what caused your mental lull as of late is you not working in your own field, and you're inclined to agree. You're probably agreeing with her _because_ she's a psychologist, though… Nevertheless, you make a mental note to stop being a pussy and mix something in the next few days. But what? The possibilities are endless…

As you stand in line, contemplating the fineries of your now ignored masterpieces and how to improve upon them for a grand comeback, your mental ministrations are rudely interrupted by an angry little fellow with an inferiority complex: "Hey you taint sniffing fuck, either pay or move!" You know that voice, if only barely.

You slowly turn around, and find Karkat Vantas standing behind you. Since when was he here? Why did he not say hello? What a dick, though you suppose that you two _have_ only worked together once so far. Still, out of workplace niceties are vital. At least you think so; you've never had a real job before. Looking down at the angry little man, you have a large urge to ruffle his hair, but with soda in one hand and candy in the other, you're out of hands to demean your co-worker with. "Karkitty, what're you doing here? Don't tell me you're already lusting after my fine ass after _one_ shift," you resist a smirk, even though you were damned funny; the beauty of the Strider visage is in the façade of emotionlessness.

"For your information, you bulge licking ass enthusiast, I live five blocks away from here," he snorts derisively as he side steps you and places his foodstuffs on the counter and removes a credit card from his jeans pocket. You casually saunter up next to him, placing your own things on the counter, and watch him from behind your shades. Sure, it may be nighttime, but it's never a good idea to go walking around with freakish red eyes; it tends to unnerve passersby. As he finishes paying, he turns to stare at you and, upon you not acknowledging his demanding stare, blurts out: "What!?"

You yourself begin paying for your own things, the cashier seeming to be thoroughly enjoying your banter with your new co-worker, and you decide that you aren't nearly done making his night worse. Your day was terrible, so why not make someone else's night worse, because that's how these things work. Letting the cashier keep your change is a commonality when you shop, and today is no exception, so naturally you and Karkat have likely become his new work story for at least a week.

However your angry acquaintance is already leaving, though with a few long strides, you've caught up and, with a bag of unhealthy goodies in one hand, you sling your arm around his shoulders, however you have to stoop over a fair deal to do so. He shirks himself away from you; "Hands off, Strider! Don't want your contagious disease of fuck-ass to spread to me," as he removes himself from you, you can't help but detect an earthy aroma on his grey hoodie.

"Karkat Vantas, I never would have guessed," you lift a melodramatic hand to cover your mouth, and feign a look of horror, though it mostly comes off as a handsome dude covering his expressionless, agape mouth with a hand. Upon Karkat's look of confusion and overlaying displeasure with you, you elaborate: "I know that smell on you, bro. Someone as angry as you should be dialed down by weed, not riled the fuck up so badly Gordon Ramsey's telling them to cool their shit!"

Your mentally high five yourself for a Ramsey burn done successfully, and given the deep frown that's now creased Karkat's forehead, you think you've done a bang-up job all around. Karkat steps forward once and turns around, forcing you to stop abruptly, your 'grocery bag,' such as it can be considered, swinging forward and consequently backward rather sharply. "What I do in my free time is no business of yours, fuckass!"

You're really beginning to believe the workplace stories of Karkat's vulgarity don't even scratch the surface, but given the strange people you met in your DJing travels, you're not really put off. In fact, you think it makes him all the more entertaining: "I'm not judging you, Karkitty, calm your shit," you say, patting him on the head as you have done many times since you met him, "All I'm saying is a good co-worker would share with his new broworker."

His eyes widen for a moment before narrowing again, "I'm not wasting my stuff on some douchebag like you," he says with new fury in his voice, but something in what he said seems to bug you more than you expected, and without really realising it, you've dropped your shopping bag, and you've got your arm around his neck from behind, holding him in the air. Karkat gasps, looking back at you, his eyes wide with panic.

You cock your head at his fear; why would he be afraid? You wouldn't _actually_ hurt him, you're not some weird fuck like Jake's grandfather who exploded butterflies with a blunderbuss to pass the time… That being said, you bet that Jake would do the same, given the opportunity. The English-Harley family was a strange, strange beast. "Let me go, you insufferable dick!" Karkat barks as he squirms against your arm, however you're not letting go quite yet. Continuing onward in the direction he had been originally walking, you find his resistance to be futile.

"I'll let you go the minute you agree to share," you say smoothly, and given the fact that Karkat is losing his ability to support himself enough to not be choked, you know you've already won this battle: no one says no to a Strider. He looks back at you and nods, and with that, you release him, and he falls to his knees, coughing.

You offer a hand to help him up, but he swats it away, "You douche!" He says hoarsely, "I should call the cops, not share my weed with you!" You keep your hand extended, and after he regains his breath, he reluctantly takes it, and you help him to his feet. You choked him a little without meaning to, but in your defense you're not used to tussling with such a small opponent.

Regardless of what he said, he continues forward, offering a rough 'c'mon,' and you two continue toward his house after you both collect your discarded purchases. "So Karkitty, why do you work at that shithole Best Buy?" You ask after he falls silent for a while, and upon hearing your question, he looks back at you, his expressively angry features now also confused. He has a very confusing face, you decide.

Turning forward, he stuffs his hands into his hoodie, which you passively note has what appears to be a sideways 69, though connected at the ends, on both the front and the back. That seems strangely sexual, and looks suspiciously like handcuffs. You're sure that has absolutely no double meaning, though. "Eh, Jade, John and I go way back. We all joined at the same time, but then Egbert got all shitty and started climbing that corporate ladder ," he says, the anger replaced by a saddened bitterness.

Deciding to not be a terrible person, you ignore the flurry of jokes and snide comments that come to mind and instead say the one thing that Karkat might not be angry at hearing: "That's pretty shitty, bro. You and him were close, back in the sepia-toned day?" He shoots you a look for your _tiny_ degrading of his fond memories, and you only shrug.

Karkat turns at the end of the block you're currently on, and you're surprised that you've never actually run into the little bugger before; he lives six blocks away from you in total. Evidently inclined to share a story or two, the little man in front of you begins his story: "Egbert and I went to the same junior high and high school, though he's known Jade way longer. Anyways, we had a class or two together and the nerdy shit sniffer corrects my answer when I'm called on in class, so naturally I start screaming obscenities at him. He looked terrified, which was great, don't get me wrong, but our teacher was a giant bitch and decided to punish us both."

Reaching a six story apartment complex you've seen many times on your outings, Karkat unlocks the lobby door with a code on the nearby access panel and the door buzzes. Pushing it open, he quickly steps under your arm and leaves you to let yourself in. He's kind of a dick, and you're hoping he has good stuff to help you unwind. "We spent lunch period being bitched at for stupid shit, and afterward John was so pissed he looked like he was about to cry. It was pathetic, I tell you, but it turns out Sollux, who was waiting for me, also knew Egbert, so the three of us skip our next class to get some lunch, and the rest is history."

You can't help but notice how oddly happy Karkat seems at the memory of hanging out with John, and you can't help but wonder what the tired looking operations manager has that makes him so redeemable for being a corporate sellout. Frankly, you're getting curious, and so you decide to be a bit of a badass wildcard: "Hey, Karkitty, you got John's phone number?" You ask, and receive a confused nod, "Awesome. Call him up and let's get him here, Jade too. We'll have ourselves a little exploratory party." You're grinning, and you can see a dark smirk growing on Karkat's face. Oh yes, you just found an excellent partner in crime to make John Egbert open up to a bit of Dave Strider style therapy.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello everyone! I must preface this chapter with an apology, for its creation was not as prompt as I had hoped, but alas, work so cruelly got in the way. Nevertheless I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude and joy toward all the followers this story has received!_

_I haven't written fanfiction in quite some time and therefore was worried that it would not be received well by the fanbase! It eases my concerns greatly to see such an overwhelmingly positive response. _

_Has anyone ever listened to Eridan's Theme? Damn, that is a badass theme. If only he didn't kill two of my favourite Trolls!_

_Regardless, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Tell me what I'm doing well, what I'm not, what you'd like to see or even just random commentary, should you so desire. I always endeavour to respond personally to each one!_

* * *

Dad's gone to bed and left you with your cousin, Jane, to sit at the dinner table in comfortable silence. For an infamous pair of pranksters, it never ceases to amaze you that you can sit in total silence. You're holding a cup of coffee in your hands, and your cousin is doing the same, though neither of you are actually drinking it. Coffee was never really a drink you enjoyed, and instead it's more of a means to an end: you need to stay awake to make sure Dad is okay.

"Times have really changed, eh?" You say quietly after a moment, and your cousin looks at you for a moment, a little surprised you spoke, before nodding and looking off to the side. She's normally such a happy-go-lucky young woman, and frankly you'd rather see her baking than like this; she's quiet and the look in her eyes is something you don't want to see. "He took care of us for so long on his own and now we're staying up to make sure he doesn't need to be taken to the hospital like…" You trail off, a cold shudder reverberating through your body. You can still remember the terror that gripped your entire person that night.

_You're sound asleep when a violent coughing sounds from across the hall. Your groggy mind tries to push it away, rationalising it as your father just clearing his throat, but as your bleary eyes open, you know something's awry: even when sick, he's never woken you up by clearing his throat. You turn onto your side, staring at your closed door. You want to check on him, but you don't want to embarrass him by worrying too much; he still has his pride._

_Still, you feel as though you're obligated to check on him; he's your dad and you love him, even if his obsession with baking and shaving cream borders on the insane. You push your warm covers off you and fumble for your glasses on the nightstand. You didn't like the nightstand your father bought after you moved out; it was too tall and you always hit your elbow on it. _

_Regardless, tonight you're slightly less clumsy and you find your glasses before the blasted piece of furniture falls to the ground. Ignoring it, you make your way to your door, finding the other room across the way to be eerily quiet. You want to go back to bed; you're tired and your dad is probably fine. Probably. But you don't know, so you open your door, dearly hoping you find him sound asleep. _

_You open your door, the cool air of the hallway assaulting your boxers and t-shirt clad body, and you shiver a bit; the winter's always been cold, and though you love the snow, there's no fun to be had so late at night when dad's unwell. Thus you step across the hall and knock on the door, offering a meek "Dad…? Everything alright?" You wait a minute, but receive no response. Your heart is beginning to pound in your chest, and your hands are becoming clammy with a cold sweat. _

_You hate this; you hate that dad's sick; it makes you worry and you don't want to imagine him dead, but you know it could happen. With a clammy hand, you turn the knob and open his door. 'Please be okay,' you plead silently looking directly at the floor. The curtains are half drawn, allowing the moonlight into the spacious room, on one side of the entrance a wardrobe sits and the other a safe. On the far side of the room, you see it. _

_It's dark and you can't fully make out what you're looking at, but you quickly realise the horrors of the situation at hand. Halfway fallen out of bed and collapsed in a puddle of blood and vomit, your father wheezes weakly, his eyes, full of panic and fear as he sees you, growing all the wider. He tries to whisper something, but it only comes out as indistinguishable gibberish. "DAD!" You scream miserably as you hurry to his side, pulling his head out of the disgusting pile. Vomit-stained blood has matted half his head, and his black haired, streaked with grey, is slick to the touch. "Jane!" You call out, "JANE!" _

_You can hear a door being thrown open down the hall and the hurried footsteps of your cousin, though you feel as though you're already too late. He's so cold in your arms, and so still too. You're shaking with your own panic as your mind flashes with the scene of dad's funeral. You try to push it out of your head as you slowly pull him out of bed, dragging him away from the mess on the floor. Jane is behind you, her black hair tangled and messy from sleep as she puts her phone to her ear: "Hi, 911? I need an ambulance right now! My uncle… Please!" You can hear her voice crack as she gives them his address._

_All you can do is wait for the paramedics to come as your father slips away in your hands._

It was a close call that night; the doctors at the hospital had explained to you that, had you waited any longer, he likely would have died. "Hey," Jane says quietly, breaking you out of your morose memory, "Don't beat yourself up over it, he's okay now, right?" She places a hand on yours, and you smile at her. She really was your confidant; she never judged and always listened.

The silence that falls in the room is once more interrupted, however this time by the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Removing the device, you see the name 'Karkat Vantas' with the options to accept or deny the call below. You figure it's probably about work and that's the last thing you want to talk about, but Karkat's an old friend, so you give him the benefit of the doubt, "Sorry Jane, one second here," you say bashfully as your rise and answer the call: "Hello?"

"_John, you bulge sniffing fuck, get your ass to my apartment ASAP, your god commands it!_" Karkat always loved calling himself a god, mostly because you called him cute the first time you met. You couldn't help it! You hadn't seen anything more adorable than a guy so angry and loud be so… small! You were no giant yourself, but damn, he was small back then! At least he's grown since then, but you and he are only the same height and he's a year older than you.

He's already rambling about how you can't leave him alone with Gamzee, but you've already made up your mind: "I'm sorry, Karkat!" You say as animatedly as possible, though you know he can tell when you're faking positivity, "Dad had a rough day and I just want to make sure he's okay…" You fumbled with the hem of your shirt, and you can see Jane rising to her feet, slowly walking over to you.

He's grumbling to someone else, though you're pretty sure it's Gamzee, "_John I am not giving you an option! You are running yourself into your grave with all this working and worrying!"_ Karkat pauses for a moment, _"I'm not burying another friend, okay? So get your ass here!_" You feel your throat clench up at that. It was so easy to forget that other people lost loved ones too, but you know your place is here, keeping tabs on your family.

"John," Jane says, suddenly next to you, and you jump in surprise, "Go see Karkat, I'll make sure Dad's okay." You're already opening your mouth to dispute her point, but she's grabbed your phone and is now holding you away with one arm as she speaks to your irritable friend: "Hey Karkat! It's Jane, long time, eh?" She pauses for a moment, examining the nails on the hand she's holding you back with, "Oh you know it!" Jane laughs lightly, slowly lowering her hand and letting you stand there, "You got it, he'll be there right away! Bye!" With that she's ended the call and left your decision entirely ignored.

* * *

"FEFERI GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT BEFORE I SHOVE A-" The furious voice of Karkat is abruptly overpowered by one with an overbearing loud lisp.

The new voice seems just as angry, but somehow much more pathetic and the owner subsequently appears to be harder to like, "You will not speak to her like that, you wapscallion!"

"Y'all motherfuckers need to just calm down and slam a-"

"NO MORE FAYGO TALK YOU PIECE OF JUGGALO SHIT."

"Harsh, bro."

"What's the glubbin' matter, Carpkat?! I just wanted to play with your fishies!" A female voice whines. She seems adorable, but in a manner that implies she may die in a very unjust fashion.

You're John Egbert, and you're quickly remembering why you don't hang out with Karkat. He has strange friends with very strange demeanors that just weird you out half the time. "You were fondling my shower curtain! Out! Both of you!" Karkat screams like the hysteric little shrew he can be. You can't deny that you, and likely the rest of your shared friend circle, find it hilarious.

As you go to ring the doorbell, the door before you swings open, and before you is a furious looking, though dapperly dressed loser. Garbed in a pair of black dress slacks, an equally dark dress shirt and a violet vest, he could almost pass for having a great sense of style, if not for the atrociously hipster-esque frames that sat on his pointed nose. "Eridan?" You question, feigning ignorance to the little spat he, Feferi and Karkat were having.

As if on cue, Feferi appears at his side, her tall figure garbed in what appeared to be a dress made up of pastel ones long since shredded up. You had always liked the weird fish-obsessed girl, if only because her puns _never_ stopped. "John!" She practically glubs. Whatever that is. "Karkat is being a whale of a tool! I think it's because he's trying to make a good impression on his new friend."

Eridan snorts derisively, "The guy's a douche, wave of conceit, I'm telling you!" His female companion paps him lightly on the shoulder before ushering him out the door, "See you around, Egbert," he says passively, though you receive an eager and adorable wave from Feferi, which you return to your best degree, though Eridan's leering daggers at you for your equally dweeby send off.

"Glub- I mean, bye John! We'll shorely see each other soon!" With that, the two of them are practically prancing down the stairs, arms linked. Eridan seems to loathe the experience, but you and he both know quite well he can't ever say no to Feferi.

Deciding to just… walk into Karkat's apartment instead of calling out for him and calling down a storm of haranguing questions with relation to why you haven't been around recently. Quietly closing it behind you, you can hear your angry friend and another voice as well, one that you don't immediately recognise.

Karkat's apartment has a strange layout; you enter into the kitchen, and the living room's in another closed room. You're pretty sure he bought it for the sheer fact to spite anyone who came over to visit; he's a bit of a weird guy, but you still like it. Still, being his boss is tough, and you feel as though you've drifted apart. In fact, you're sure that's the case for all your work friends; you've been so busy working and getting promoted you've put yourself above everyone like Jade and Karkat.

It's not fair, but you know you have no one to blame but yourself: you did this, it's your fault you're not close to your friends anymore. _You did it_. Sucking in a sharp breath of anger, you expel it after a pause and move through the filthy kitchen before placing yourself in front of another closed door. You could still leave, go home, maybe even to your own apartment, but you don't spend a lot of time there anymore. You're mostly between work and your dad's house, and even though it's selfish of you, you could use a friend to help you unwind.

Placing your hand on the brass doorknob, you turn it slowly before pushing the door inward, revealing the dark, crowded interior of Karkat's living room. An oversized couch was placed in the centre, facing a fifty inch television you had sold him at work that he also used as a computer monitor. Scattered across its stand were gaming consoles, energy drink cans, emptied Dorito bags and other unhealthy gaming supplies to keep the wiry rascal up for _hours_.

On the left side of the room was a desk with his laptop, which was currently closed, placed atop its dirty surface. He only used it for writing what you suspected were romantic stories of the most shamefully hilarious degree, though you could never be sure since he's never let you see.

Taking a look around the room, you're finally noticed by one of its three inhabitants. This specific individual was sprawled across a desk chair, which had been pulled up to the couch, and his lanky body was awkwardly slung over both arms. He looked a bit like some sort of macabre clown due to the absurd makeup he wore. However anyone who knew Gamzee would know better than to call it makeup, it was _clearly_ 'war makeup of the most righteous of subjugglators,' whatever the hell that meant. "Oh my motherfuckin' subjugglating gods," he says in a hushed, ominous whisper as he stares at you with wide eyes, "It's that motherfucker John!"

It's only then that you notice the pungent smell of marijuana, and though you're not exactly surprised, you are when you see who the 'most pure of buds' is being shared with. Lounging on the couch with his arms folded behind his head and a leg loosely crossed over the other. A pair of aviators sits upon his face as he eyes you with an inscrutably impressive poker face before offering a casual wave with a hand under his head, "Yo John, fancy seeing you here."

"About fucking god damned time you got here!" A third, though strangely amused sounding voice resonates from the space between the TV stand and the couch. Karkat sits up, looking at you with a strangely downplayed anger in his visage. You know that look, even if you've only rarely seen it: he feels hurt, though he'll never say it around anyone else. "Had I known you were going to take this long I wouldn't have let Gamzee break in. Do you know what kind of a nook-swaddling bulge sniffer he is when you're alone with him!?"

Your lips turn upward in a tired and embarrassed grin, closing the door behind you. "You need to calm yourself down best friend, you're all in my face about nooks and bulges, it's harshin' my mellow!" Gamzee soothes his best friend expertly, handing him an obscenely shaped bong. You've always hated that thing; it makes you uncomfortable just to hold, let alone _touch_.

"Sorry guys, dad wasn't feeling too good and I-" You're abruptly cut off by Karkat who's swaying on his feet, bong held in hand. If not for the twofold inebriation and foul mouth, you'd say he was cute, but alas, he was drunk, high and a jerk, so you won't say that.

He shakes his head, "Don't start on it man, we all got shit family. Kankri's a piece of shit so wretched not even Gamzee can say nice things about him-" The aforementioned juggalo goes to contend the point, though he's silenced with a smack upside the head as Karkat rounds the edge of the couch to stand across from you. "Chill, Egbert. I'm ordering you to sit your ass next to this piece of human garbage in sunglasses and fucking chill," he drags you by the wrist, plops you down next to dave's feet, and forces the bong into your hands, which you look at with worry and trepidation.

It's not as though you've never smoked before; being friends with Gamzee pretty much guarantees elicit activities to eventually include you, but you've never been fond of the activity. Still… it does help everyone de-stress, and right now that sounds dandy. Bringing the device up to your mouth, you wipe off the makeup – war paint – and inhale. The world around you goes blurry and you feel your lungs sting against the strength of the weird clown's stash, but you keep your cool, the still silent Strider to your right making you woefully uncomfortable.

You don't know the guy at all, but here you are doing _drugs_ with him? The things you'll do to bandage your friendship with a foulmouthed jerk! Nevertheless, the acrid smoke fills your system and you can immediately feel the side effects of the smoke, slowing your breathing after a brief stifling of coughing. You offer the device to the man who's still sprawled out on two thirds of the couch, awkwardly passing it to him between his spread legs.

'_You awkward twit!_' You scold yourself, angry you're even doing this with an employee like this. It's so unprofessional! But… You just don't really care, right now. "Thanks bro," his low, melodic voice drifts out from between his parted lips after he inhales. He leans forward, sitting up in the process, growing eerily close to you. You slowly lean away from the encroaching Dave, finding his proximity, scent and stare to be just a little too much as Gamzee's stash quickly sets in. "So John," he begins, still sitting far too close for comfort, "How do you know Karkitty?"

You go to answer him, but the rolling of an office chair distracts you as Gamzee comes to hovers next to you in his languid plastic throne, "Ooh, ooh! Can I tell the motherfuckin' story? It's so cute man, makes a heart warm." You merely nod at the weird juggalo who grins widely as he takes the bong from Dave's hand, inhaling for an absurdly long time before beginning one of your favourite stories. Karkat's seated against the TV stand, legs stretched out before him as he regards Gamzee suspiciously, his eyes narrowed in mistrust.

"So, back when these little motherfuckers were all up in that bitch middle school," he begins, spinning his chair and only barely missing you with his feet as he turns, "Best friend here was being himself and decided that he needed to tell his motherfuckin' teacher how it was." You groan, loathing the story more and more as the king of stoner regales it to the amused looking Dave. Well, you're not sure he's amused… You think the corner of his mouth is turned upward into a smirk? It's very hard to tell, and it's very frustrating!

Spinning once more, he hands the bong to Karkat, and you quickly remember their strange way of using it like a talking stick. After taking a healthy hit, the angry man coughs hoarsely for a moment, "Fuck, Gamzee, what is IN this, fibreglass?!" He calms himself with a drink of water from a nearby bottle of water before continuing the story. Dave cants his gaze to the foulmouthed individual, though you can almost feel his heavy gaze flipping to you from time to time. "So I'm telling our bitch teacher how Nepeta's shipping wall is totally art, and that she's just too old and fat to realise anything differently. For some reason she took that as an insult and sent me to the principal's office."

You slowly start to grin mischievously, quickly not caring how embarrassing the story was about to become, "So I go to the principal's office, and I take a seat RIGHT ON A GOD DAMNED WHOOPIE CUSHION. Naturally I'm so pissed I swear I was going to shit out blood and slip off the seat like some cuttlefish or whatever the hell Feferi calls them." Gamzee's laughing and Dave's visage is now cracked by a smirk as he looks at you, quickly realising that was your handiwork. You flush with pride, puffing out your chest at the fond memory, "I figure it really couldn't be anyone else than this dumb dork next to me, and so I start shouting at him that a man as important as I doesn't have time for his stupid bullshit, but he's not having it!"

"Karkat up and thought it'd be cool if he decked the prankster, and so he punches him right in the face! Poor dude's on the ground crying with a bloody nose, and it's then that his heart grows three times!" Gamzee says in pure awe of the tale. Dave is sitting upright once more, eyeing the juggalo with quirked brows as he continues his story, "Our little angry dude here was all "oh no motherfuckers, I done and decked this cutie!" So he swoops down to console him before he gets all personal and shit with his teen hormones and-"

You grin widely as you stare at Dave, "He kisses me, right as the principal comes out of his office!" You and Gamzee are guffawing with such fervor that you snort, and when hearing such, even Karkat chuckles a bit as he covers his immense blush. Your clown friend tumbles from his spasming perch and is now still laughing on the ground, and for a few minutes the room is engulfed by the deranged laughter of all, even Karkat who silently admits to the hilarity of his actions. "You should've seen it Dave! Principal's standing there while KK here puts the moves on me!"

However your tiny angry friend – well, you call him tiny, even though you two are now the same height as adults- is still covering his face, his blush so prominent that crimson has tinged the tips of his ears. "Oh relax Karkat, we all did embarrassing stuff as kids! Remember when Gam and Tav-" You feel a hand clamp over your mouth, and it smells suspiciously like cool. Dave is leaning over you with his lanky form half covering you as he shakes his head, still laughing his subdued, cool kid chuckle.

"No more stories or I'm gonna piss myself, Egbert!" He collapses forward as Gamzee tries to get up off the floor, only to bring his former perch, the desk chair, crashing down on his back, causing a random 'HONK' to sound from nowhere. "What the fuck, why did no one tell me fuckin' juggalos exist!?" He's laughing in earnest, uncaring of the fact that he's sprawled out on your lap as he watches the stoned clown fail to stand up from under his prison, flailing like a trapped locust.

Evidently they had been hitting up for some time before you arrived, since by the time Karkat has recovered from his embarrassment and hands you the bong, you see its reservoir is dangerously low. Deciding to say 'fuck it' to logic, you take three long hits, coughing wildly afterward. Dave's ceased his uncool laughing as has his arms behind his head, using your thighs as a pillow as he stares up at you coughing, his brows creased. You wave him off, trying to assure him you're fine.

After your coughing subsides, you lazily pass the phallic bong off to Gamzee who… You're not sure what he's doing with it, but admittedly you're very distracted. The aviator wearing coolkid in your lap, whom you barely know, is just… staring at you. You stare back, and you can hear Karkat make some sort of snide remark, but you can't seem to shake this uncomfortable feeling. What is it you're feeling? Why is he so warm?!

You twitch, "I-I have to pee, I'll be back!" You blurt out quickly and slide out from under Dave before stumbling out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You hurry down the hall toward the washroom, the warmth on your legs never leaving you. It's comfortable, but at the same time so terrifying.

You're not sure you're ready for this.


	5. Chapter 5

_I apologise for how terribly boring that last chapter was! Rest assured Dave and John actually get some face time this chapter. Alas, in our previous installment I had to allocate so much time to character development that nothing of interest actually occurred. Such a tragedy._

_Remember kids, weed isn't cool. Don't do drugs!_

* * *

You're really beginning to like this clown guy, but you're also very sure there's a serial killer just waiting to start stabbing underneath that chill as fuck exterior. However, being the epitome of cool that you are, you're not worried about such an unlikely turn of events in the near future. Most pertinently you are quite subdued by Gamzee's potent stash, and though Bro would smother you in smuppet ass if he knew you were partaking in the most 'righteous of buds' with a co-worker and their juggalo best friend, you just can't seem to give a fuck.

You're currently listening to the story of how Karkat and John met, but to be perfectly honest you're not really listening, and instead your attention is on the aforementioned nerdy manager. It came as quite a surprise that he was actually going to show up and hang out with you and these two, and at first you were unsure whether that was a good thing.

Now, however, you're incredibly glad he did attend, since you've never seen a more hilarious and dorky sight like this before: Egbert's got a horrible look of shame on his face as he tries to hide his blush. Karkat's doing the same, and you can tell that, on some terrible level (likely to do with poor movie tastes) these two are identical. With the entirely un-ironic phallic bong in hand, you lean forward, your hidden eyes boring into his visage which is growing rapidly more uncomfortable.

Irony ninja skills set in as you lean ever closer to him, breathing in his scent and taking in all that he has to offer. Frankly his nervous fidgeting and increasing blush are adorable, and you find yourself wishing to become even closer, but quickly discard the absurd notion as you hand the bong away, suddenly wishing for some mental clarity to think through what you're doing. However, as quickly as you're regretting your actions, you hear how Karkat macked on this nerd and worse yet, as everyone laughs and guffaws with unbridled delight, John goes to tell you how Gamzee and Tavros did something, but you can take no more.

"No more stories or I'm gonna piss myself, Egbert!" You beg, your sides hurting from laughter. This is so uncool, but something about this guy is forcing your façade to crack and reveal your true self. You hate it, but you love it too; it's liberating and terrifying, but you're too stoned to care at this point. Now half laying in his lap, you watch as Gamzee fails to get back into his chair, only to bring the confounded seat crashing down onto himself, eliciting a random honk. "What the fuck, why did no one tell me fuckin' juggalos exist!?" You feel tears welling at the corners of your hidden eyes, but none of it matters as you watch the scene above you.

The tired, unhappy spectre of a manager that you met at work has been replaced by a vibrant, delighted young man who can't help but laugh and smile. You almost smile at the sight, but thankfully retain some dignity as a Strider. The laughter between the four of you dies down and you're left staring up at John, silently wondering what brings on his downplayed, miserable attitude during most days. However, before you can ask, John's on his feet blurting something about having to pee. With that, he's out the door and scurrying down the hall.

You're left looking to your side at the still seated Karkat who's left staring at the door. "That stupid fuck," he snaps before receiving a pat on the head by the juggalo, though he shirks away from the hand with an angered movement of his hand, "What're you waiting for you stoned fuck? I'm not goin' after him! I wasn't the one rubbing his bulge with my head!" You frown slightly, but he only shrugs, "I am a master of this shit and I say you go after the fleeing damsel with cock in hand!" You groan, not really wanting to be _that guy_, but also very curious as to what the hell just happened. Before you yourself actually go to stand, you feel arms loop through your armpits and haul you to your feet like a ragdoll.

"I got your back, motherfucker," says Gamzee as he places you on the ground, a decidedly unsettling grin on his face as he blankly looks at you. Deciding to just ignore the weird look he's giving you, and move to the exit. You know you'll sober up soon enough and when that happens, he'll go back to being an unsettling clown, instead of your saviour.

Stepping around the couch, you exit the living room and find yourself once more in Karkat's kitchen. Pots and pans covered in days old food are crowded into the corner of the counter, stale bread sits out, still in its bag, empty milk jugs are strewn nearby on the floor, and you're pretty sure the fridge door's dent was the product of either Gamzee or Karkat punching it. Resolving to find John, you head down the hallway to your right and toward where you suspect the washroom and bedrooms are.

Stalking down the short hall you find two doors adorned with strange signs marking them as either Gamzee's or Karkat's "Respite Block," whatever the hell _that_ meant. On the opposite side of the hall you found a single door which was currently closed. Deciding to merely wait him out, you lean casually against the wall, arms crossed over your chest in the epitome of casual cool.

You hear a faucet turn on and your eyes narrow as you try to think what the hell you're going to say: '_Oh, sorry for using your junk as a pillow, I'm just really stoned and thought it would be fun,_' or perhaps '_My bad bro, you just seem like an adorkable fucker and I was all over that like fat on ass_' might work, too. You're far too out of it right now, and all this serious business with your boss isn't really ideal. Besides, isn't this really more Karkat or Jade's problem?

Though before you can go and fetch one of the aforementioned co-workers, the door across from you opens and a bleary eyed John stands before you, peering up at you with confusion evident in his visage. His blue eyes, bloodshot and tired looking, seem to lighten for a moment, and he worries his lower lip with his overbite for a long moment as he stares you, clearly confused. "Something up, Dave?" He asks you after a long moment.

"Listen here bro," you say with the same monotone voice you always use, "I'm going to explain this shit with pictures, since I frankly don't give two shits for my job." You place a hand on his shoulder and guide him back into the washroom and place him in front of the mirror. Stooping down the five inches you have on him, you point to the bags under his eyes and explain: "You're a year younger than me and yet you have this going on. Not cool, dude."

He eyes himself, an annoyed frown creasing his face. You're sure it's difficult for him to seem intimidating at work, what with the likeness of a kicked puppy played out on his face all day, and you only barely resist a smirk. "Dave I'm a manager, I have to work a lot to make sure the store's doing well," he explains with a huff of annoyance, "Can we go back now? Karkat gets his panties in a knot if you leave him alone for too long."

Now you're the one with the frown on your face as you hear him speak; he's irritated and short with you. Broke as all hell and a total nobody again you may be, but you're not going to stand for _this_. "Listen bro, I know you don't know me, but I'm pretty much the coolist dude around. Like, legit I'm so cool Antarctica is telling me to heat the fuck up because I'm making it look bad," your exhaustive metaphor gets a smirk on his lips, and you can feel yourself winning, so you continue. Flourishing a hand, you place it dramatically against your forehead, and still in the same bored tonality you keep going: "It's such an injustice. I was some serious hot Shit; Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff the Movie was on its way to shit on your brain in a theatre near you, my DJing was paying all sorts of bills, and now look at me. Chillin' in some washroom with your ass waiting until you don't pay attention long enough for me to get me some."

Achieving your desired goal, Egbert's now laughing in spite of himself, his hand covering his mouth as he snickers at your lame speech of how hard your life is. Rolling his eyes, he shoves you playfully away, "Oh is that how it is? Getting into the boss's pants to make life easier?" He laughs a bit harder, offering a sudden snort, which you grin at how lame but surprisingly adorable it was, "You're a heartbreaker, Strider!"

You lean down further and decide to make things a level of weird only Bro can normally achieve. Whispering in his ear, you make sure to expel as much hot breath as possible: "Can't it both?" You say deviously as you slowly place your hand on his far shoulder. Looking left into the mirror, his face heats up significantly with a bright blush of embarrassment, and you can't help but remark at how easily flustered he is. It must be a product of being overtired all the time, you surmise, but you think it's cool he's so open with his feelings.

He shoves you out the door, "Not funny!" He whines pathetically at you, and it's quite clear to both of you that you'll never have a proper employee-boss relationship, and that you'll just be fucking with each other as much as possible. As you feel your grin fade and Egbert recovers from his laughing fit, he looks down the hall, "Think we should go back?"

You shrug your shoulders, secretly eager to be both free of Karkat's angry temperament and to have some one on one time with your bro boss. "We don't have to; we could snoop through Karkitty's shit while he's too baked to stop us, you know," you offer casually, motioning to his room with a lazy thumb jerked in the general direction. He studies the half closed door for a moment, then looks back to you, before a mischievous smirk grows on his face and you push yourself off the wall, "Attaboy, Egderp."

He cocks his brows at your nickname for him, but only rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands in his work pants' pockets, "Egderp, really? You're supposed to be a cool kid, and that was crap. You can do so much better." You scoff indignantly at his lack of faith in your undeniable badassery and slide the door to Karkat's room open, stepping to the side to allow John in, "Oh what a gentleman, I'm swooning already, Strider." His voice is thick with sarcasm, and you make a mental note of his sass.

However you quickly forget about your grand retaliation scheme which you hadn't even quite thought up yet when you notice Karkat's room. The entire far wall was covered in bookcases, all filled to the brim with movies; Bluray, DVD, and VHS were all collected and organised with precision. Slowly stepping around his filthy bed and momentarily ignoring the compromising picture of John and he on his dresser, you peer at the movies. "They're all… romcoms and chick flicks…?" You look back at John, who's tearing up with a hand clamped over his mouth as he shudders with laughter, "You knew this and didn't tell me!?" You deadpan, aghast.

He nods, before releasing his hand and bellowing a nerdy laugh as he slaps his thigh, "Oh I had to see your face when you saw Karkat's movie collection, Dave! I've seen it hundreds of times but… Oh man, the look on your face!" He continues his noisy guffaw, stumbling back onto Karkat's bed, his face flushed as he become breathless from the hilarity of you looking so shocked and appalled.

"Man I knew he was a weird kid but this is too much…" You say, totally dumbfounded at the wall of terrible movies, "This is as bad as Jake… then again that idiot just likes everything…" You make a futile gesture at the wall of crap and look back to John, who's seated on the edge of Karkat's bed, "Let me guess, you have some collection of shit movies at home, don't you?" He only looks away bashfully, shrugging, "Oh god, you're all just a bunch of hopeless dweebs, aren't you?"

You stumble over to him, feigning a fainting spell, before dramatically falling backward onto the double sized bed, once more placing the back of your hand on your forehead. John looks back at you, grinning as he goes to say something, but blinks as you hear a phone vibrate. He removes the device from his pocket and frowns at the screen. Sitting up, you lean over, "Sup bro?" you question him, but he ignores you for a moment, deflating considerably.

"It's… nothing, what were you saying?" He looks back at you, a forced smile on his face, and the look of fatigue on his face. You don't respond to his obvious lie, and instead stare him down with an impassive gaze concealed by your black aviators. He shifts uncomfortably, looking away from you, "Hey, don't look at me like that. It's nothing personal, just my dad is…" He trails off, looking back down at his phone's blackened screen.

You shift closer, slinging an arm around his shoulders. You can feel how tense and uncomfortable he is, but you suspect that's not from your touching him. You know about John's father being sick, but it'd be unfair of you to bring that up, and you'd rather not be that guy who just _knows things_. Terezi's bad enough for that, and you're pretty sure that chalk eating chick has one foot in the insane asylum as it is. "Talk it out, bro," you offer casually, and he looks over at you skeptically. "Nothing leaves this terrible room; I swear it on my shades," you tap your right lens with your finger nail, and Egbert seems to take that as a solemn Strider vow. Which it is, of course; you'd never risk your shades.

He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, "I'm not sure why I'm even telling you this, but… My dad is sick; his kidneys are completely shot. He can barely eat, he's skinny and weak, he pukes up blood, and he's just dying in front of my eyes…" He trails off, and you can feel him trembling, though you keep your arm where it is for now, not risking to panic him by going hug-mode on him just yet.

He looks over at you for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat as you see the look of complete and utter hopelessness on his face, "I was really young when it happened, but I remember when my mom died… I can't relive that, not now." He eyes you for a moment, a deep and probing stare, and you instantly feel uncomfortable as he searches you for something you cannot discern, "You asked me why I work so much? I do so that I can make extra money to help him stay alive. It's selfish and I'm just keeping him in pain, but I…" He can't seem to finish the words, but you don't mind, you firm up your grim, moving your hand from his shoulder to his arm, and holding him there as he steadies himself, his breathing shaky and unstable as he fights back tears.

"It's okay dude, I didn't mean to make you sad or anything," you say as sincerely as you can, and you're surprised by the amount of regret that actually surfaces in your words. He looks over at you, and shakes his head, silently absolving you of any crime. Slowly he leans his head to the side and on your shoulder. You let him, and make no mention of it.

He breaths out another shaky breath, "It's okay Dave… Thanks for listening, really… I just don't want to lose him, y'know? I don't know what I'd do if he died… I'd be all alone in the world." His voice cracks as he thinks of burying his father, and you can tell that he's thought of this far too often for someone so young. With his head on your shoulder, you resist the urge to comb your fingers through his hair, even though you really do want to. It's something you think your mother did when you were sad as a child, but you're not entirely sure.

Settling to merely keep your arm around him, you hold him there as he calms down and after a moment he removes himself from your side hug and stands, "Alright, enough of this moping around," he says, taking another deep breath and wiping at his eyes with his thumb, "Now that I've successfully been a giant girl and you've made fun of Karkat's movies, what now? If I know Karkat and Gamzee, they'll be either asleep or doing something much worse if they're stilling going at it in there."

He gives a thoughtful hum as you stand and crack your back, "I don't know about you, man, but I'm not ready to call it a night. I'd go for a movie and some AJ right about now, but all we have here or romcoms and I'm not on that shit." John snickers at your poo-pooing of Karkat's movie selection, and then falls silent, worrying his lower lip as he thinks. You're beginning to think that's a nervous habit, but you're not about to stop him. It's endearing as fuck, if you do say so yourself. And you do say so, because it is.

"Well I suppose Jane's at dad's tonight, and I haven't really been in my apartment for a while. We could watch something there!" Egbert chirps positively, and though you initially like the idea, you quickly remember your previous theory; someone like John Egbert probably has terrible taste in movies. It couldn't be as bad as – "I know! We could watch Con Air," – and there it is, a shit movie suggested.

You groan, not letting your hatred of that movie go unnoticed, and your receive a great big childish frown from John, "How am I not surprised your suggested that piece of motion picture shit? That's doing shit a disservice; I bet the fecal board of America's gonna be up my ass bein' all "yo bitch don't compare us to that trash movie or we're gonna cut you."" You sigh even more dramatically, rubbing your eyes under your glasses, though you're careful not to let John see your mysterious eyes. Not yet, at least. "But, in the spirit of being a bro, I'll oblige your shit movie. Lead the way." At the sight of Egbert's triumphant grin and little fist pump, you realise you really couldn't have ever said no to the guy.

* * *

You're still Dave Strider and you're very glad to have reached John's apartment. You didn't realise how fucking sore your feet were from work, and after walking all that distance between Karkat and John's place, you're about ready to kick your feet up in a very relaxed and cool looking manner; image is a big part of the things you do, and you love it.

The apartment building before you is another forgettable sight in your neighbourhood; squat, four or five story buildings dot the landscape, breaking up blocks of houses and duplexes. This one is just as boring, and as John allows you into the main lobby, you make a casual note of the empty 'Hope for the Hopeless' jar on a nearby counter. Touching. Your boss makes a casual glance at it before looking away with a guilty whine, which you meet with an impassive, hidden stare. After a moment, he fishes out a few bills and tosses them into the jar. Good deed of the day done, you suppose, and with that, you continue on your way.

An small, dirty elevator takes you up four stories, and in the rumbling of the noisy lift you can hear John humming a song under his breath. Thankful for your hidden eyes, you eye him closely as he does so, and supress a smirk; you're not sure how anyone so lame ever got to be a manager; the General Manager must be a total idiot. You've never actually meant the big honcho, seeing as you've had one shift, but you know his name is Eridan and he's a fucking twat.

The doors part and you follow a narrow hallway adorned with walls and carpet both varying shades of grey before arriving at one of the many nondescript doors. You make a mental note of the number 413 plastered on the door as John unlocks it and pushes it in, ushering you in: "It's not much, but it's home," he says awkwardly, evidently very uncomfortable with your prolonged silence. Having not realised you had fallen so silent as you watched him, you offer him a smile, but in reality it's just an inflection of the corners of your mouth with no sincere happiness behind it.

The entrance into John's apartment leads into a small hallway that opens up to the kitchen on the left and a bedroom to the right. The kitchen, dining room (such as it could be called) and living room were simply one large shared space, and given the rough look of the appliances and walls, you're surprised at how homey it feels. Posters of simply terrible movies adorn the walls, three bookcases of movies and games are against the wall perpendicular to the far wall where the TV is, the couch, in reality a futon, is covered in open movie and game cases, and the coffee table before it has bags of chips and the like piled on it.

Eyeing all the terrible posters, you find John staring at you as you take in the sights, and you can't help but laugh a little, and it forces his brows to knit in frustration at you making light of his tastes; "Dude, _really?_ Con Air? National Treasure? _Avatar?_ Your tastes, bro… You need a movie intervention; this is a cry for help." As you defame the movies you first see on the wall, his mouth falls agape and he storms over to the Con Air poster.

"Dave Strider you cannot tell me that Con Air is not an excellent movie! Nic Cage's acting was sublime! Whenever I watch it and he gives that bunny to that little girl I cry! It's so moving and deep; i-it's a reflection on how corrupt our society is and—" You shush him with a finger on his lips, a disturbingly vivid grin on your face, and he merely looks up at you with wide azure eyes. Removing your finger from in front of his mouth, he snarls at you, though you can only find it cute – hold that thought; he is not cute. That would be a ridiculous thought to entertain.

You slowly stride over to his futon before slumping into a seated position, "Alright Egderp, movie me!" You motion toward the TV and he just stands there, arms crossed, fuming quietly. You peer at him behind your glasses, "Fine, we can cuddle. Just keep your hands above the danger zone," you gesture toward your crotch, and he lets out another stifled gasp of shock and annoyance. "Cat got your tongue?" You wink slyly, even though he can't see it.

"You are _such_ a loser, Dave," he laughs brightly, and you feel the tension you didn't realise you had relax. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, John laughing is something you really do enjoy; he looks so worn out and every time he's happy, it seems to all fade away for a moment. "Well, since you're too busy being a cliché Texan, we'll watch what _I_ want to watch," you look at him, clearly worried as he flashes you a devilish grin.

John plops himself down on the far end of the futon, bringing his feet up and procures a remote from the coffee table in front of you both before simply turning on the Bluray player and TV. The title menu for Con Air appears and you groan loudly, "You had this playing before? You are so uncool," you drawl, dreading the horrible movie that any man with taste would hate.

He doesn't seem to care though as he practically cuddles into the couch, "You're going to _love_ this movie. Or you can go home!" He huffs indignantly, and you decide that Nic Cage and John are vastly superior to Bro and Jake. Then again, only by a sliver… The movie begins and you've quickly checked out of hotel-shit-film faster than an Englishman booking it to teatime. On the screen before you, Cage is doing that annoying thing where he's always got a frown on; it's like he's always bearing down to take a giant shit, really. "Oh, oh!" John says about ten minutes in, poking you eagerly, "Watch this part!"

Frankly you're having a great deal of trouble just _seeing_ the screen, let alone actually watching the movie, and even though the sun had set some time ago and darkness had engulfed the landscape, you're not entirely comfortable with removing your glasses. Deciding to just go with it, somewhat confident that he won't see your strange eyes, you remove your aviators and tuck an arm of your beloved eyewear into the crook of your shirt.

You instinctively squint at the nonexistent brightness, however you feel yourself no longer straining your eyes through the dark glass. John looks over at you for a moment, before looking back, a small smile on his face. "Hey, Dave," he begins, though you keep looking forward, "Do you think it's selfish of me to be enjoying this movie when… Nevermind," he shakes his head.

Slinging your arm over the back of the faux-futon, you face him, confident he can't see your eyes. He avoids your gaze, and you merely take in his likeness. Curled up into the corner of the couch he looks so small, so… afraid? He seems to be flinching away from your stare, and you try to relax your demeanor. "C'mon dude, that's not a fair argument to make against yourself," you say calmly, and he stiffens from discomfort, "Jade and Karkat told me about the stuff with your dad, and the guy sounds like a badass." He refuses to look at you, but a small, sad smile grows on his face. "I think a guy like that would feel incredibly guilty knowing that he was causing you this much pain. You deserve to be happy, bro."

He remains silent for a moment before impulsively wiping at his eyes and nodding, "Maybe you're right, maybe…" With that, he falls silent and you return your attention to the movie at hand, regardless of how mind numbingly terrible it is. You decide you'll tough out one shitty movie for John and to avoid your brother, but as the time passes on and the film drags on, you casually look to your right, only to find your boss slumped against the arm of the couch, snoring lightly.

Rising silently in the dark room, you step over to his still form, retrieving the discarded remote and over the course of a minute turn down the volume to nothing, thereby not waking him due to the abrupt silence. You're quite good at these things after having Terezi fall asleep in your room many times, much to your brother's sadistic delight. You distinctly recall a certain Christmas wherein you found a few smuppets holding red chalk hanging from your ceiling above your bed. There were so many signals all you could do was scream and cut them down.

After having effectively muted the tv, you stand in front of John and shut it off, thus blocking any flash of light as best as a skinny fucker like you can achieve. With that done, you slink off to his room, stifling more laughter at his lame bed sheets which were covered with ghost-slime… things. You're pretty sure you remember them from Ghostbusters, but you make a point to not watch crap unless you have to, so you're not sure. Deciding to not snoop, you carefully remove the lame quilt. And by carefully you mean you tug it off the bed, sending his pillow cascading to the floor and wrenching out half his sheets.

Making your way back to the other room, you fold the thick sheet in half and place it over his slumbering body. Cuddled into his sheets, you can't help but notice how fucking adorable this guy is. Really, it's like someone took a baby deer, gave it a bottle and a blanky, and just let it do its thing. It's so cute, in fact, that before you realise your cool kid façade has utterly failed you, you've removed his glasses, set them on the table, and are now pressing your lips to his cheekbone.

You're not really sure _why_ you gave John a goodnight kiss, but frankly you don't care, because afterward he pulls the comforter tighter, a small smile growing on his face. Stifling an entirely un-ironic 'aww,' you tiptoe to the door and let yourself out, leaving your boss snuggled up into the corner of his futon in the most ridiculously adorable position you're sure you'll ever see him in.


	6. Chapter 6

_In the words of Equius; fiddlesticks! It has been quite a while since I updated Blues, and for that I apologise. To all those who left comments, favourited or followed the story, I thank you! The popularity this story has attained has surpassed my expectations, that much is for certain._

_Chapter six is the end of the introductory arc and the beginning of some good ol' young adult angst. Enjoy!_

* * *

The air is dry and cold, the customers bitchy and impatient, and the employees miserable and overworked. However you're beginning to get used to it: it's been six weeks since you and John hung out and he fell asleep, and neither of you have brought it up since. You're not quite sure if you like working with him or not; part of you enjoys the amount of time you spend together, but another part questions whether you're privy to his real self, and not the façade he puts up for customers.

He looks more tired than ever, and you're worried he's losing weight. You know Jade is too from the one time you accidentally walked into the meeting room to find her with her head in her hands as John stood awkwardly to the side, his face hidden by his shaggy dark hair. The two of them looked at you with these damaged looks, begging you to make everything right. You wish you could, but you're not a miracle worker; magic isn't real.

You're currently selling a customer a tablet and the man is grilling you about the return policy, to which you once more reply: "Fourteen days _with_ the receipt." The man is holding the product in front of himself, the aforementioned receipt held under his thumb defensively. He wants you to let him return it two months later if his son doesn't like it. Frankly you don't give two shits about his spoiled kid or his demands. You'd do it if you could, but it's not like he'll be dealing with you.

"This is such bullshit, fuck!" The man swears furiously, rumpling his suit as he pulls at his hair, frustrated. You only shrug, your hidden gaze impassive and bored as you stare at the man. He keeps his eyes focused elsewhere than the black abyss that are your aviators, and you can feel your ego inflating as he becomes more uncomfortable. "Fine, whatever! I'm never shopping here again," with that, he's off, leaving you to yourself.

However your seclusion is quickly broken as Jade arrives before you, evidently having been listening in behind customer service. Her vibrant green eyes are wide as she speaks: "Oh my, what a rude man!" She huffs, shaking her long black hair side to side, "I don't know why we can't ban people like that. But that's this dumb company for you…" She shrugs before looking around, worried someone might have heard her. "Anyway, Dave, Eridan wants to talk to you," she says, looking quite worried for you.

You only raise a blond brow at her concern; you had met your general manager before, and though he was kind of a douche, beyond his lisp and shitty attitude, he was pretty benign. "Alright, thanks Jade," you say boredly, and as you pass her, she clears her throat, and as you turn to face her, she refuses to meet your gaze, "Sup?" You question, and you can tell that your demeanor is making her uncomfortable.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted hang out with Rose and I later today!" You groan; you had forgotten of the massive mistake you had made in introducing those two. Jade loves to talk and Rose loves to psychoanalyse people. Really, it was a match made in heaven, and you just know those two and Kanaya are off on disgustingly un-ironic trips to Bed Bath & Beyond or something terrible when you're not around. However, you decide to not be a giant douche and so you offer the chipper woman a stoic nod.

"Sure. Message me on Pesterchum when you two have something hashed out," with that, you leave a giddy Jade to her devices as she removes her phone from her pocket and is already making insidious plans with the Tentacle Therapist herself. Stepping into the 'carwash' behind Customer Service, you make a left and step into the meeting room where you find Eridan seated at the far end of a long table, surrounded by plastic chairs.

Donning the Best Buy uniform, he also wore a long violet coat with a collar that reached up to his ears. Various rings adorned his skinny fingers, and his pale skin was almost grey from what you suspected was a lack of going outside. "Hello David, thank you for coming," he says his lisp barely concealed, unlike his open contempt for you. You knew the man hated you for not giving a shit how the store did and for your glasses. It broke uniform policy, just like his coat, but no one would call _him_ out for that.

Leaning forward in his chair, he folded his hands together before him, though the act of such was incredibly awkward due to the stupid amount of bling the man wore. Looking to be in his early thirties, the streak of purple down the centre of his slicked back hair only served to make him seem more ridiculous, and so when he spoke, you couldn't help but just start _at_ this absurd looking person instead of listening to him. "Naturally we want to win and be the best store, and I know that's what you want too," he begins, and every time he annunciated the 'w' sound, he stuttered, "But of course everyone needs to pull their weight."

You resist the urge to raise an eyebrow, and instead remain passive in your now seated position. Was he saying you weren't working hard? Well, that wasn't exactly untrue, but even still, just to not get fired you have to bust your ass every day, "Now, we've been looking over your service plan attachment percentage, and it's a little low, do you have any idea why?"

You stifle the urge to tell him it's because you just couldn't give any fucks about pushing shit on people, but instead you just lie. You lie like how Bro lied about your need to wear your shades, and how Rose lied to Jake about how she had convinced you to make an effigy of Lara Croft and burn it. "Of course," you say through clenched teeth, "We have to make sure that people's products are protected." You can feel your blood boiling: this isn't you.

You're a DJ and comic creating badass who doesn't give any fucks about corporate schemes. At least, that's who you were. Now you _are_ this; you _are_ a corporate pawn. Why did people get bored of your music? Why did they stop thinking your comics were funny? It's unfair and it's stupid; nothing changed in your style. You can hear Eridan yammering on about how you need to try more, and you're nodding, but you've stopped listening a long time ago. Something about how your life went awry isn't sitting right, and you need to figure out why.

Whatever Eridan has been saying has fallen on deaf ears, and as he leads you out of the meeting room with a few entirely forced words of encouragement, you stay behind customer service and open Pesterchum. There's only one person who knows you well enough to discern the truth behind it all, and however you've ignored asking for their insight out of sheer pride thus far, you know you need to swallow your pride for this one.

_-turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] at 16:13-_

_TG: rose_

_TG: dave to rose_

_TG: rose pick up_

_TG: lalonde quit drinking your sister's martinis and answer_

_TT: Apologies, David. However I was not intoxicating myself via cheap martinis; I was in fact working. Something you seem to avoid doing as often as possible. Nevertheless, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?_

_TG: real funny lalonde_

_TG: you're a god damned riot_

_TT: I know._

_TG: … anyways_

_TG: listen, you can't tell anyone I asked you this; this shit is like factor five secrecy or whatever shitty movies call top secret things nowadays_

_TT: Interesting. Go on._

_TG: god you're evil_

_TG: you've listened to all my DJing work since when I started:_

_TG: and you've read all my comics_

_TG: granted you've done all of this for some sort of weird therapeutic, flighty horseshit, but_

_TG: why do you think that people stopped paying attention?_

_TT: That's an interesting question, David. It's one that I asked myself as I saw your profits sink and your bookings become more and more sparse. Though I am no expert in the fields of ironic comic creation and mixing, I do believe I have a theory that can summarily bring together both of these driving aspects in your personal and professional lives._

_TG: and that is_

_TT: You stopped being interesting._

_TG: here I am swallowing my pride and being a totally cool bro and confiding in you and that's all you got_

_TT: I shall elaborate, then. Your mixing became stale; you didn't do anything new, you just kept to the same cheap tactics to woo your crowds. You were playing at the same fifty clubs, what did you expect would happen? _

_TT: Concurrently, with regard to your comics, the plots, too, became stale and overused. It was as though your mind had reached its peak of creativity and then simply ceased its machinations. Put simply, there was nothing inspiring any new thinking in your life at the time. I know SBaHJ is an ironic creativity dumpster, but even it felt the woes of your lack of inspiration._

_TG: so you're saying it just all got boring and shitty because I was boring and shitty?_

_TT: Well, I would not say it like that, per se, but that is the essence of my point, yes. Maybe after all the drudgery and monotony of your current occupation, among other things, you might be able to drum up some creative juices to continue your works anew?_

_TG: among other things?_

_TT: John._

_TG: oh god, not you too._

_TT: I am a licensed psychologist, David. I know infatuation when I see it. It is so obvious I need not even see but instead only hear of it in this case._

_TG: bullshit_

You're really regretting talking to her. Still, you can't deny what you know about John are things that you adore endlessly (granted you'll never admit that out of pride). His buck teeth and the way he hides them behind his hand when he laughs, his infectious smile, his bright blue eyes that, even though how tired they look, still shine, his messy black hair that somehow looks really good regardless.

_TT: When you're ready to admit it, we can create a plan, David._

* * *

The stock count is way off, the theft level is up, and Eridan is practically foaming at the mouth about the drop in profits, like it's your fault. Your name is John Egbert and you are completely fed up with your boss' unreasonable expectations. You had already begun your day in a bad mood thanks to some prickling irritation that would not leave you, and now you're all the more irked due to one of your employees.

A few weeks ago you had awoken to find yourself asleep under your comforter on the couch with no one else around, and you could have sworn your face felt so hot the room would have caught on fire when you remember whom you had seen the previous night. You had socialised outside of work with an employee, and if people learned that you'd be fired in an instant. That kind of stress isn't good for you, and you can feel your stomach tighten into knots as you go about your daily business.

Bosses aren't supposed to be chummy with their employees; that's just not how it's supposed to be. Even still, you can't help shaking the fond feeling you had when Dave was over. When he's alone his cool kid façade isn't on as strong, and even when you spoke of your father, he didn't pry, and instead listened and gave what condolences he could. It was nice to just have someone listen without asking more and more, but it was stupid and selfish to let that happen.

Needless to say, you've been beating yourself up over it for a while now. Jade tells you that you need to stop worrying about it, and that it's natural for you to make friends while you're at work. You're not an old man and most people you work with are your age, so her logic is sound, but you know you can't get close to your employees; it's not what management does.

As you walk toward customer service, you see a signature head of bright blond hair, purposely styled to look like it's messy – master irony, or so you've been told – coupled with a pair of signature aviators. Dave gives you a small nod as you walk by, and you offer him a forced smiled, to which the slightest frown forms on his angular, pale face. Are you gay? Of course not, but you can admire a handsome fellah when you see one; and Dave Strider ticks all those boxes. You've had a girlfriend before and you thought she was very pretty, but with him it's something else entirely.

It's not as though you can sit there and scientifically note his attractiveness, for instead you find it to be something much deeper in you that finds you admiring your employee. You _want_ to know more about him, you want to understand why it is he seems so withdrawn, why he wears those glasses, why he styles his hair to not look styled: you want to know everything. You want to talk to him now, and even though you have nothing to say, your body is moving toward him. Step after step you can feel your own person betray your mind. What would you say to him? Is there anything _to_ say?

However, as luck would have it, Jade is abruptly at your side, guiding you toward the carwash. "John!" She says, her voice thick with concern as she starts to chide her in her grandmotherly way: "You look terrible! Those bags are not a flattering for such nice eyes." You chuckle bashfully, brushing a strand of hair away as you go to protest, though your oldest friend will have none of that: "I know you're my boss and we're not as close as we used to be, but I'm worried about you. You know you can talk to me, right?"

You smile at her, and she seems to calm for a moment. Jade's always told you what a nice smile you have, though every time she does you just end up blushing like a school girl. As you two stop next to the punch clock, she looks away for a moment before her face brightens. You purse your lips, frowning at her skeptically: you know that look. It's the look of an idea that you won't like. "Really, Jade! I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me."

Jade scoffs at you, discarding your obvious lie, "I wasn't born yesterday, John. It's like you think we were all created in a bunch of green sludge that somehow became babies which were sent back through time…" You just stare at her, completely confused by her ludicrous notion of time travelling slime babies. Really, who would believe such a nonsensical thing? "… Anyways! Rose and I – you remember Rose, right? I told you about her; she's Dave's cousin, I think. She and I are going down to a karaoke bar downtown tonight. You want to come?"

You instantly disregard the idea: you're so busy making sure your dad and the store are alright. However your skin abruptly crawls as you put the store on par with your beloved, lame father. The man who thought shaving cream was a viable strife weapon is not equal to some Best Buy. Even still, you're a busy man! "Jade, you know I can't…" You begin, your friend's face already deflating from its previously eager visage, "I have to watch dad and make sure nothing happens. I'd never forgive myself if he… if something went wrong while I was away." You're whispering now, intent on your employees not hearing you speaking about personal things to Jade.

However she doesn't seem to care and a foreign emotion crosses her face, contorting her brows into a frown: she's angry. "John Egbert, life is not completely about you!" She scolds you harshly, and you can only stand there, dumbfounded by the rather obvious statement. Jade's verdant gaze shifts from you to another employee as he walks past you two, punching out for his break. You offer him a nod and a forced smile, and your counterpart does the same. After the employee leaves, she continues her point, now speaking in a harsh whisper: "I know you're worried about your dad, but I talked to Jane and she's already there for the night. She and Roxy are having a girls' night in. You know how Roxy is! She adores your dad just a little bit too much…"

You blink, you didn't know that Jane and Roxy were having a girls' night at your dad's. You smile a little, admiring your great hearted cousin all the more for her resolve to helping you. Dad isn't even her biological father, but she doesn't make any differentiation because of it. You make a mental note to pester her a thank you, though before you realise quite what you're saying, your resolve has faded away as you agree to a night out: "Alright, I'll go. Just for you Jade… I do want to meet Rose, after all! She sounds so interesting."

Jade practically 'squees' with joy, whatever that happens to mean. "You won't regret it, john! And I can promise you, she's really something." She looks back in the direction of customer service before returning her attention to you: "John, I was… Nevermind. I should get back to work!" With that, she offers a small giggle and absconds, leaving you standing there in confusion.

Deciding to just move on, you exit the carwash and are once more face to face with another employee, this one being a supervisor: "Hey, John… I was, uh, wondering if we could get a final call on a return here, maybe?" Tavros stands before you, his skinny frame draped in an oversized Best Buy polo. You can only smile at him, even if the gesture is tired and forced. You do like him; he's a nice guy with a forgiving attitude, but he has a tendency of coming off as kind of a workaholic toward new people, so he doesn't make friends with new employees quickly. Worst of all, he never likes making decisions on his own.

You pat him on the shoulder, "Tav, I have every confidence in you that you'll make the right call." He goes to contend the point, but you shake your head, once more pushing a few shaggy locks of black hair away, "Really! I believe in you, Tavros. You should too; you're always talking about all the self-confidence you got from dating Vriska. Let's see it in action!" He looks down at you with wide, hopeless eyes as you speak of your shared ex. It seems all that girl is good at is dumping people.

"You're right, I think! Yeah. I'm the supervisor, I can do this!" He puffs out his chest and nods at you, his fauxhawk swaying forward as he resists the urge to hug you. You don't mind when he does, but it really undermines his authority when he hugs his boss when the customer they need help with can see. "Thanks, John. My self-confidence and I will solve all problems!" With that problem solved, he marches back over to Dave's till where the apathetic young adult stands looking utterly bored as a customer absentmindedly berates him for something that is quite likely not his fault. Deciding to save your admirable employee, you clear your throat as you walk by, gesturing for him to follow you.

Without even offering a word to the customer, he just strolls off as the man is mid-sentence. The man looks between you and Dave, his brows so knit you swear he had a mono-brow. However, after all that's gone wrong in your life recently, you don't really care if one man is pissed. Dave's lithe form falls into step with yours, his thumbs hooked into his belt-loops. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he really was Texan. "'Sup Egbert?" He questions you casually, staring at you for a long moment.

Even though you're his boss, you can't help but feel a shiver of discomfort as he takes you in with his hidden gaze. However a member of leadership is a master actor and so it thankfully does not resound as you speak: "Nothing really Dave, I just didn't like seeing that guy lay into you like that. We can't chew out our customers, but we can certainly avoid their anger!" You laugh lightly, and your blond employee offers a strained chuckle.

Both of you fall silent as you continue your walk around the store, though your mind is desperately racing for an appropriate topic. You want him to feel engaged and welcome in your company, to know that you truly admire him, but it's also of vital importance that you do not stop acting like his boss in the process. It's a tricky process that he is not privy to, given his position as the employee, and you feel somewhat jealous at that realisation. However, much to your delight, Dave engages _you_ with conversation: "So Egbert. You have a girlfriend?"

You can feel yourself choke on your spit, however you stifle the unattractive hacking sounds and instead settle for a very red face. Dave's lips quirk upward in amusement as he stares at you while you two walk. Your gait is stiff and awkward while his seems entirely smooth and controlled. He _must_ be nervous on the inside! You know he has to be, and that's your ticket to getting back at him for that. "No, I had one a while ago, but she and I broke up. How about yourself, Dave?" With that, his smirk abruptly disappears as he refuses to answer you. You guess it must be complicated.

* * *

"Obey! Obey!" The lyrical words boomed with such ferocity that the walls vibrated, "Obey, yes! I'm the Condescension!" You're Dave Strider, and you're trying to understand the lyrics that are being imparted upon you. It's impossible to _be_ condescension, but nevertheless Feferi's mother is singing about it. She's quite a stunning woman, and frankly part of you is terrified of the gaudy woman. Garbed in a pair of skin tight leather pants and a matching top, her taught, lithe frame is entirely exposed to the world. Her long, flowing black hair hasn't been cut in years and sways around the back of her thighs.

Bro appears flash steps onto the little stage, his muscular, pale form glistening in the bright lights as he sings. He says it's an ironic gesture to the masses, but you know he's a massive queen when it comes to showmanship. "Just abandon your goals o' queen of trolls! You're on the shit list of the destroyer of souls," he quotes his words as he raps off the words with such precision and lyrical quality that you have to admit he's pretty good. His angular, ridiculous glasses glint as he looks over at you, smirking ever so slightly. Meenah, Feferi's mother, is slowly pacing around Bro, her gaze menacing and yet somehow sexual, and you suddenly feel uncomfortable watching the highly sexualised display. The crowds are hooting and hollering at the display of this righteous cool man and bangin' cougar have at it in verse, and you can't help but laugh inwardly at the sight of it all.

Looking to your right, you see Rose equally enamoured with the display before you both, though you imagine she's enjoying it for entirely more perverse reasons: she's psychoanalysing Meenah and Bro as they go about their little show, discerning all their secrets and insecurities from the way the elder woman refuses to meet the gaze of any women in the audience, or how Bro keeps looking to the door behind his shades. In her hand is a martini, and proudly displayed before her are about five empty martini glasses; the victims of her war on sobriety.

You know Bro wants Jake to be here, even if he'll never say it, but the trigger happy Englishman doesn't enjoy seeing Dirk skulk around a woman twenty years older than he is. You can understand his position, but it seems absurd that they won't just talk it out.

You, however, are impatiently awaiting the arrival of your other two friends. John and Jade are about an hour late, and you're hoping nothing's gone awry with the former's father or latter's grandfather. Both figures are the things of legend with their mischievous and often overbearing (grand)parenting techniques. On stage, Bro and Meenah finish their routine and Bro already has his phone in hand, messaging Jake and demanding he show up already, while the leather garbed woman is signing various magazines she's displayed upon.

While a sickeningly sweet couple sings a love song with one another, you finally see two figures emerge from the stairwell that serves as the entrance to the karaoke bar you're situated in. Donning a pair of faded blue jeans, a white shirt with some sort of ghost… thing on it and a dark green jacket which he pocketed an inhaler. Somehow, that struck you as incredibly cute for some reason. Jade's wearing a simple knee length dress with such a mossy green colouration that you swear she ripped it off a tree somewhere.

"Yo Jade, John," you give a lazy wave of your hand as Bro takes a seat at a nearby booth, Roxy seated across from him. Rose's elder sister is nothing like the psychologist herself and instead is a lovable lush with a tendency to 'wonk,' and frankly you find her to be awesome because of it. Jade takes a seat across from Rose and John across from you, completing your four person table, and you can't help but notice how similar the two dorky individuals look.

However, the peace of the moment is quickly ruined as two pairs of footfalls sound and approach your table. You feel two slender arms wrap around your neck and you the strong smells of hairspray, perfume, and most prominently liquor assault your senses. Roxy's got you in a neck hug and she's squeezing you drunkenly: "Davey! You'd make a fine lady fuckin' swoon, I swear! And look at you, got your own harem." She offers a signature 'wonk' at her sister who only rolls her eyes, remaining characteristically silent. Casting her drunken gaze to Dirk, she grins wickedly, "Looks like you got some competition, Dirk!"

Bro drags a chair from a nearby table and places it at one end, to which Roxy 'le swoons' at and slips into, batting her lashes playfully at John, who only looks away, a blush creeping onto his face. Another chair appears at the opposite end of the table and Dirk takes a seat, his hidden gaze meandering around the table. You suddenly feel a chill crawl up your spine as you realise the unholy foursome might come together. You always dread being in a five mile radius of a Jane-Jake-Roxy-Dirk hangout session. Perhaps, though, with Rose, Jade and John, you can withstand their insanity. "David, will you be singing this eve?" Rose abruptly asks after the silence had finally become uncomfortable.

Everyone's eyes are suddenly on you, and you remain silent for a moment; you hadn't actually thought about it, you'd been preoccupied with other thoughts that you'd rather not rehash. What you feel for John is a desire for a friendship, for him to be a real bro. Sure, you might be gay, but that doesn't mean every cute nerd you meet is someone you want to screw! You're not like that, contrary to what your former followers thought. "Wait… Dave, you _sing_?" John balks, and Bro slowly smirks. You offer a light shrug, but the insistant Egbert shakes his head, defiant. "No way, Dave Strider. You're not just shrugging this off! You're definitely singing."

You groan, shaking your head, "C'mon dude, this is so uncool, you can't-"

"Gadzooks!" A horrifyingly familiar voice erupts from the entrance, "Dave, you're singing? That's capital!" Jake is already marching over to you, booty shorts and grin abounding. "Janey, my love, did you hear? Dave Strider is singing!" He bellows to the woman on his arm. You've always liked Jane, and the fact that her cousin is John is just a scary coincidence that, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense. You had always heard her cousin worked way too hard and didn't get out a lot, and so it made sense that you had never met John until you met him at his job.

With one hand loosely holding Jake's elbow, a young woman with short, perfectly styled black hair wore a baby blue dress. The lovely nostalgia piece flared out at the waist like a bell and was accented with white frilly lace and accented her curves. In contrast to Roxy who showed off her slender, petite person in pinks and blacks, Jane was vibrant in her bright, pastel colour palette. You find it represents the dichotomy between them; the bright blue is quiet, but the subdued black is outgoing. "I just can't get over how our cousins and siblings are all friends, now! Hoo hoo hoo!" You forgot about that; Jane's laugh is _ridiculous_.

Instead of pulling up more chairs, as he walks by, the exuberant Englishman simply hefts a table in one hand and Bro scoots back in his seat, allowing his fiancé to drop the new addition to their table in his place. Following such, both of them procure another chair each; one from Jake for Jane, and one from Dirk for Jake. The betrothed couple offer each other subdued, loving smiles, and you practically vomit at Bro's public display of affection (or what passes for one with a Strider). You just know they're holding hands under the table, too. Their affections make you want to vomit.

John's fallen silent as he watches you watch the two, and he's looking at you with imploring eyes. You groan so loud that all seven of your compatriots are now staring right at you. "ALRIGHT!" You bark, standing, "Fuck it. I'll show you all how this is _actually_ done. Egbert, with me!" You order your boss to his feet and he clumsily forces himself upward, his brilliant blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh my, so forceful! Be nice to John!" Jade chides you playfully, offering you a playful swat across the rear before recoiling her hand. She looks to Jake with wide eyes, "Striders have very firm rears! How do you… You know!" A blush has taken over her face and is quickly mirrored on her relative's face who is now hiding his face behind one large hand.

Jake is giggling behind his hand, and Dirk has a smug smirk on his face as his fiancé sputters out an embarrassed response: "Saints alive! What _are_ these hooligans doing to my sweet, pure Jade? Do I have to put a curfew on you, little lady!?" He's now laughing as he speaks, slapping his hand against the table, and Jane is biting her lip, her lips contorted into a wide smile of amusement.

Paying your evil friends no heed, you simply take John by the wrist and drag him toward the stage: "D-Dave! I don't sing!" He shouts hurriedly, trying to dislodge himself from your vice grip to no avail. "Let me go, you accursed cool kid! I am not singing!" He tries even harder, but still is incapable of freeing himself. No way are you letting this opportunity to see him at his best.

"Yo barkeep! Spin that Cool Kid shit!" You shout to the barkeeper and he gives you a confused look, "Cooler Than me!" You clarify, annoyed before bounding up onto the stage with a springing jump, John still in tow. He stumbles up the two foot stage before you finally let go. He's still complaining that he doesn't know how to sing, but apparently your brazen audacity has got him this far, so why not a bit of showmanship? "John, bro, I'll go first, and you jump in when you're ready. I got'cha," you reassure him, and he seems to calm.

You offer him a mic and the bartender offers you a nod before speaking into your own microphone: "What's up, everyone? It's D-Strider here, ready to drop some lyrical shit into your ear canals. Shit's gonna be so hot you'll be running a fever of 413 before I'm through with you!" Your table of friends, save your stoic brother, is hooting and hollering, many of them offering John encouraging words and gestures.

Your management friend looks terrified as he fumbles with his microphone, "And with me on this sick stage tonight we've got the one, the only, John Egbert!" You applaud him, and either through your ridiculous spectacle harkening back to better days, or the hollering of your friends, the entire karaoke bar is cheering John on, thinking him to be some sort of musical celebrity they weren't aware of. Covering their asses like posers, perhaps, but emboldening John? Definitely.

He offers them a smile and a small wave from his spot next to you where he seems happiest. The song begins and you decide you'll start things off. Your voice is cool, lyrical, perfectly in tune and damned smooth: "_If I could write you a song to make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used up all my tricks, I hope that you like this, but, you probably won't, you think you're cooler than me!_"

John scoffs, bringing the mic to his mouth. At first his singing is shaky and awkward, but either from your encouragement via an arm around the shoulder or your friend's incessant noisemaking, he finds the key of the song: "_You've got designer shades just hide your face and you wear them around like you're cooler than me, and you never say "hey" or remember my name and it's probably because you think you're cooler than me._"

You're pretty sure he must have taken piano classes as a kid because for someone to find their singing voice that easily is unheard of. He gives your beloved aviators a playful flick as the lyrics mention them, along with a few dismissive gestures with regards to how you supposedly never greet him. The song continues to ramp up and you're both now just trading lyrical blows. John's grin is wide and unbreakable as he sings, his shining blue eyes never leaving your hidden visage.

You're not sure when it happened, but as the song winds down to the final verse, you've got your arms on his shoulders and you're stooped over as he sings into your face. You're entirely admiring his cute face and not even listening to him, but as you hear the words "you think you're cooler than me," you can't help but hear a bit of subtle undertone, and he gives you a mixed look.

You frown at the words, and he only shrugs lightly as you two part your strange sing off stance and dismount the stage, once more ignoring the easily accessible stairs that no one seems to want to use. You worry that you choice of song has ignited some passive animosity John might have had toward you, and worse yet he seems completely withdrawn from the conversation at hand, now. However you find a slender, dainty hand on your shoulder, distracting you from your rapidly self-depreciating thoughts to find Rose trying to get your attention. "David, could you be so kind – hic! – as to let me seek refuge at your abobe… abode… This eve? I am quite thoroughly inebriated," she grins drunkenly at you, and you can't help but wonder when the _fuck_ that happened.

"Tell you two what," Bro pipes up, "Rose can stay in Dave's room. Problem solved." You look over at your brother, mouth agape. What the _fuck_ was that shit? You're being kicked out of your own room?

You shake your head firmly, "Hell no! Where am I supposed to sleep, then?"

Jake frowns, "That's not very chivalrous of you, Dave!" He chides you, a few tsks coming from his slightly parted lips.

Strangely enough, John is the one to offer a viable solution: "I think that plan works just fine, really!" He looks to you, a small smile once more on his lips. You've already decided long ago that you love seeing him smile, but every time you see it, you can't help but feel your stomach flutter for some reason. John nods to Bro who seems to already have gotten the idea already. "It's simple: Rose can sleep it off at Dirk and Jake's place, and Dave can come and sleep at mine." It takes you a full minute to process the information just imparted unto you. John wants to have a sleep over; what does that even mean?

The devious little manager offers you a nervous grin as the others continue their conversations, and as others speak to you, you realise that you and John never stop staring at one another for more than a minute during the entire night.


End file.
